Sleepy Fox Hollow Took this dagger in me and removed it

Wylla remained silent and unaware in the presence of Mahler. His words could bring no comfort now, whether she was lucid or not—she knew it to be true. Not a one of her children would ever choose her; Tiercel would laugh to see her dead, and Phaedra and Thade, sweeter than their elder sister though they were about it, were surely not much different. She couldn't protest it in her wild fantasies, but somewhere in her subconscious tolled another gong to remind her how worthless she truly was.

Lycaon, she called to him with the hoarse breathiness of the very ill when he returned, I wish I met them. I hope they're like you. I know she left you. She's... A whore. Sucking in a slow breath, she glanced to Phaedra's side, where she imagined she might find miniature Lycaons with none of Nyx's features. Never deserved you, she groused on, shoulda been there. Shoulda made her pay.

A cough wracked her fitfully, robbing her breath and putting an end to her nonsensical words for a moment. She thought she could feel every vein in her body, and marveled at how absurd that was before rubbing her dry tongue over drier lips and murmuring, time to go home, to no one, and she didn't know whether home was Grimnismal, or Keokuk Glade, or this hollow where last she felt something resembling a lasting happiness, or the waiting arms of death.

Wherever her brothers were, she supposed, was good enough for her, forgetting then that they both were likely dead.