Sleepy Fox Hollow Took this dagger in me and removed it

"wir werden sie nach hause bringen," for it had not occurred to mahler that phaedra might stay so far from rivenwood. his parental heart had glossed over it as an option, and because of this he would have put his foot down — soon to see if the proverbial hammer should crash upon the anvil.
mahler had meant for the leaves to go to shoulder and berries for wylla's ingestion, but as he watched the moonwillow bend over her mother and thread the angered edges of the wound with syrup, he thought of how he should have said first what he wanted. yet he saw now it was not necessary, and the way that the gluey paste would bind wylla's wound as it dried pleased him.
he had not thought of it. phaedra had.
he swept the leaves close, chopped them with cuttering bites, used his tongue to push them into a bolus and then the bolus into wylla's mouth.
that they had not been so intimately close in a very long time did not, for once, torment mahler. he had given himself truly to the focus of saving her.
perhaps she returned to herself now, his beloved. fading again into insensate heat.
mahler rocked back onto his haunches once he had seen her take the feverplant, in the air of a doctor pulling mask from head, putting hand to brow. nothing to do now but wait, wait to see if the next ten hours proved fruitful for wylla. how could he measure her life in increments of time? not aloud, then.
"wenn ihr fieber gebrochen ist, werden wir sie bewegen," mahler said determinedly, needing so greatly to lean upon his own decisiveness in this moment, lest he begin to splinter. the man straightened, seeking the fervent eye of his child. "ich werde wasser bringen."
nothing more to be said. he set the sum of his encouragement into his expression before he set off at a sharp trot, thankful that phaedra could not see the agony upon his face now.