Noctisardor Bypass bedauert

They both had done wrong. Wylla knew that, still feared that they would tread the same path over and over again because neither could understand the other's heart. Hers, devoted to blood; his, devoted to pack. They had not ever appreciated that about one another. There might again come a time when they stood at opposing ends and shouted at each other about how the other did not care in the proper way.

But not today. Not today.

Wylla didn't notice the cough, maybe because it would never occur to her that a medic should fall ill. She took it for him clearing his throat. She knew in her heart she had no right to this, but nevertheless Wylla rose in a crouch, pulled herself forward, and pressed her head to his neck. In the next moment she slipped it under his chin, melding herself to Mahler like she had once on Nova Peak, before everything fell apart.

She would not forget about all that. The pain she felt was still there, but subdued. Somehow, it didn't seem important anymore. She could have died! But she was alive, given a second chance to put things right by the man who should have wished her dead after all the fighting and the hate, and what was the point of holding onto such things if only misery came of it? There was time to make it right; time would tell all. Someday maybe she would regret this, someday maybe Rivenwood's wolves would look with disdain upon Wylla like Sagtannet had, and maybe he would stand aside and let her be dismantled again.

But until then... I forgive you. She owed him that much, in exchange for her life, didn't she?