Sleepy Fox Hollow when you wake, you're bargaining

the familiarity of the hollow relieved and tormented mahler. he hardly spoke; there was little resistance in him to wylla's hunting. he slept. he ate. he dreamed black visions in which laurel's voice rang out, high and piercing. he deserved to die. perhaps that was why he had offered to go with her, to descend into the valley.
he lay in the cold upon a bare outcropping of rock, silverkissed muzzle across his forepaws. it was almost as if they did not exist together, and yet they did. movement just beyond his eyes. mahler lifted his head and watched wylla approach him, resolute as always, possessing at least even the appearance of a confidence that he would not have again.
there would not be a chance for absolution, not this time.
there was only the future, and he saw that wylla carried it inside herself.
tears stung his gaze. the gargoyle rose and closed the distance between he and her, pulling her into an embrace meant to veil the sudden emotion that welled sharply within himself.