Sleepy Fox Hollow when you wake, you're bargaining

Wylla had no further comment on the subject of Sequoia and Laurel. In years past she might have vehemently cursed their names and been far more outspoken about the nerve of them, but age and her growing understanding of Mahler both went a long way in curbing her tongue. He would not want to hear it and she didn't much want to talk about it either. It would change nothing.

He was right: it didn't matter what they did or what happened to them. Wylla wiped them from her mind with the ease of wiping a message off a whiteboard. Give it a few weeks and she wouldn't spare even a thought for them. Her mind was better turned to the future, to the children she would bring earthside in a month's time and to better days ahead.

Mahler bid her rest, but Wylla shook her head. Let's find something together, she suggested, moving to walk into the wind with him. I bet Phaedra has gone up there, she said, turning her eye up to the spire's imposing heights. Where do you want to go from here?

For now, she did not think of the canyon where the Saints lived. She didn't want to know if that was still going to be a problem.