Sleepy Fox Hollow Took this dagger in me and removed it

mahler had seen wylla once like this before, empty-eyed and burning, no shade of herself left. phaedra tumbling close, wide-eyed and unknowing. his lavender gaze shifted to the jagged rents in her flesh, and he knew their shape. wylla was speaking now — lyc — and somehow he knew the name she spoke. he remembered the pale man, and with a start he saw the distant brother in the lines of his daughter now.
did she call to those who were dead?
"es war ein bär und deine mutter hat fieber." the gargoyle spoke in a swift murmur, helpless as to what he might do next. any skin-wraps of greenery he might have left behind in the hollow years ago would now be nothing more than mummified crumbling.
he remembered the lay of the fox's earth, however; trepidation and anger wailed in his chest. why must we always meet in horrible ways.
"phaedra," the doktor whispered, "fifteen minutes, that vay, beside a stream," gesturing to the north, and he described to his snowflower in almost a monotone the look of the feverplant, scarcely daring to take his eyes from her mother as he spoke.
until the last; he dragged his worried stare from feverish tiny wylla and looked toward their daughter, silently inducting her into the halls of medicine whether or not she had planned it for herself.