Sleepy Fox Hollow Gain the weight of you, then lose it

when mahler felt, finally, that phaedra must sleep, he assured her he would keep vigil over wylla. and so they had worked together and in turns, bringing water and more of the feverplant to be used again. 
mahler knew that eventually he must tell praimfaya where he was; he had told the young leader only that he and phaedra were leaving for a time. and while that time had not passed, while they had enjoyed hours upon sagtannet, he felt the press of necessary travelling-back at his shoulders.
when wylla tried to speak, the gargoyle started from where he half-dozed beneath a tree. soaked moss lying on a bed of leaves, and this he plucked up, carrying it to her at once. the man said nothing, only held it gently just above her muzzle, gentle squeezing along with wylla's own efforts descending the drink.
when this had finished, mahler put the moss aside and took up oakleaf stems, pushing them into the curve of his jaw to chew, interminably, a poultice to place over the berry-juice and hopefully leach more of the poison from the wounds.
all done with precision, all done with a formality that stuttered and stopped as he looked down at her, desperation and relief racing nakedly across his greying features. "vylla," own voice hoarse. 
"vylla, i thought that ve might lose you."
this time he did not think of phaedra hearing him — ten hours, ten hours, ten hours — and wylla still not emergent from the proverbial woods.