Noctisardor Bypass the humming

Right that moment, if one of the pups approached her outright, Wylla could not guarantee their safety. Once upon a time, she was unable to even conceive of harming a child, but that was before. Before Sagtannet, before the jealousy, before feeling the regret of not taking teeth to babes that should never have been born into her pack without her permission. She had allowed herself to be undermined and done nothing, and in doing nothing, had lost the ability to command the respect her position should have afforded her.

Even now, Wylla pointed the finger elsewhere.

It didn't take long for her to regain control of herself, repeating not his, not his like a mantra in her head. Oh, but those babes sported grey and black coats that stood apart from their tiramisu mother, and green fingers of envy had a funny way of clutching tight in spite of all rationality. They are not his, and you must move past it, anyway.

She watched, tense and silent, the amusing displays of each pup, and felt a strong nostalgia for when her own were young. The first audibly gasped at the sight of Wylla, spearing the Fünfte with an emotion she could not describe. Was she really that frightening? Time was unkind to Wylla, and the play of potentially ugly emotions across her face probably didn't help. She forced a small smile when Sequoia introduced them and resisted the urge to lash her tail.

The second came bumbling forward, and Wylla withdrew a step, clearly suspended between reaching out to this pup who was not Mahler's, and turning away in disgust because of course it was Mahler's. She settled in the middle, placing a white-toed paw back down and whisking her tail in an uncertain invitation. She lowered herself, carefully, very slowly, to her belly. Here, she could do no harm. She glanced at the first again, hiding behind her mother's legs, and finally said, as if it was Druid who asked, I'm Wylla.

It came up before she could help herself; in the next second, she asked, where is their father?