Otatso Wetlands Break free and leave us in ruins

If Stag was smart, he would have left shortly behind Zane, urging Wylla to do the same. Yet, he was hardly a boy of more than two seasons -- his experience on this earth, while hard in many ways, had yet to make him more than average in cunning.

In time, he might recognize the eclipsing of his safety for what it was; for now, he remained focused on Mahler in growing incredulity, hating the way he heard (and simultaneously loathed) the hope in Wylla's voice. Please, anything but that -- as full of adolescent irrationality as Stag was, he still recognized Mahler was someone he had once (and possibly still did) loved and cared for deeply.

It didn't change anything, in his view, that Mahler was here now. As the once-couple continued to speak, Stag grew increasingly frustrated: his heart was saying one thing, while his instinct was roaring to drive Mahler off and back into the wilderness.

What undid it for Stag was not the hope in Wylla's voice or the way he got the sense that she was starting to get reeled back in -- it was the preposterous proposition of wife! How his fur bristled immediately, his ears flew forward -- wife?!

Nothing had ever gone through him with such imperial command -- no thought had ever occurred to him with such imperative urgency then, as the thought that commanded Stag drive off Mahler, now. He liked to believe it was because he cared a great deal for Wylla and had seen how she had gradually worsened these last few months (could she, truly, handle more heartbreak?) -- and in many ways, it was still true -- but the driving force here now was something primal, which forbid the very thought from being uttered. Mahler and Wylla, wedded -- Stag's lips curled and before he knew it he had signed his death warrant:

he drove forward with a silent snap of teeth, tail high and every bit unaware that Mahler could kill him easily if he so wished.