Otatso Wetlands Break free and leave us in ruins

what about my wishes?
it rolled into his head as if it were a marble, striking roundly into the set of his jaw, which tightened as wylla spoke. he had not wanted adulation for his words, only recognition that perhaps — even so late that he had seen its futility before he had tangled with the man in the reddened snowbank. but he had spoken them like a charred curse into her presence, scorched by the fire of wylla, how her lips pressed in words between flashes of teeth — he wore her mark too, did he not — 
he desired her —
stag had not left; stag stood looking at him and he heard again the low steel of a growl that reminded the gargoyle at once of his parentage, how the winterwhite had made of her boy a more loyal man than mahler. he saw the breach of his anger boiling through the thin rein of control; mahler did not wish it, the way the heavy and seductive atmosphere charged with anger colored his view of the young wolf he had always loved, and of which had always been proud.
what about her wishes?
"yes. i did not come vith you."
why was he here, why did he continue to stand before her while stag grew greater and more imperious in mahler's addled regard: takiyok's polar wisdom over stigmata's assured bearing; or that was what he would become. mahler was beginning to grieve; each time he came upon wylla she laid out every reason he had failed her, and each time they met he had silently done more toward that end, ready to hand rivenwood to another if they be ready, retire into eldership and his last years.
ready, at last, too late, to seek wylla. he had not asked her to wait. but he had not allowed her to go.
the wind cut at the open flesh; the blood dried beneath its harsh lap.
mahler felt as though he must fight; she had punctuated every one of his senses.
but she was not a prize to be won — he had not driven off the stranger so that he might claim wylla as a trophy; he had turned his love into words that soured selfish in another's ear. 
yes. she had begged him to come away. and yes, he had not done it; he had set sagtannet above her want of him.
nobility over the ghost of an abandonment upon his consciousness.
"you spoke to me of your hurt. i did not do better. you chose to leave. and then you returned and begged me to leave at vonce vith you. i am not so spontaneous! it is not a frivolity for me. you are vorth more than that, a quick and impetuous decision. but that is alvays how you have measured my love for you, vylla."
he mulled the next, refusing to look toward stag.
"takiyok left vith taikon the same night you told me that you vould leave. vhen the morning came, sagtannet had died. and now i am ready to be leader no longer. it has only pained you since the beginning. and i forged ahead. but living each day vith the knowledge that you have been so maligned by me has made me realize my own selfishness. late, vylla. i am only, each time, too late. because i — i mean only, and badly, that for vhat vas between us, our four became a family, and that i lost it through my own sense of obligation. i mean to say, it has only ever been you."
he longed to speak of his love; he did not wish her to feel choked by it, his hurtful self pronouncing his truest heart amid such ardor. and so he was silent upon that.
"i do not say these things so that you — this is a — you should know that you are vorth everything to me, so much so i count myself as unvorthy." he stepped back, feeling as though he had spoken from his spirit but that in her mind it mattered not what he said, only what he had done, and mahler was indefensible to himself even for that.
"vonce more i have chosen a terrible time and the vorst vords," something no kin to humour limning his lilac stare, which he at last lifted to stag. if he was unworthy, if the fleeing dog had been the same, then there was but one noble among them. mahler still wallowed in his closed assumption that wylla had chosen the pale mountain-born; that he was younger than she mattered not, though in his heart of hearts he still wished strongly to know why even as he forced himself to accept it.
he felt the pull of wylla drawing him into helpless orbit — to hear her voice again — but made himself resist through willpower alone, half-turning but lingering there lest her voice sound; he must get away, get away, for the pounding ire was starting again and so long as he stood in the bloodlet snow, transfixed by agony and by ecstasy, stag's safety narrowed to a needlepoint, and for this mahler loathed himself.