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mahler sat outside the great log where wylla had made her mosscovered bower. 
now that he did not helm a great pack, he saw no reason for endless patrols. the four of them had settled some time ago, though his ear still caught the shiftings and squeaks of newborns within their mother's embrace.
mahler had decided to trust that phaedra would descend from the expanse of sagtannet and was rewarded with the knowingness of this trust enforced. 
his snowflower had come belatedly but he did not blame her, and neither did wylla he suspected. they had both come to expect her retience and her long-blown absences, for she was never truly gone, only traveling with herself, a nomad of spirit.
the meal would be one he gave to his wife. he had begun to restock the old larders and was thankful for his own ability.
she settled near. his lips curved with pleasure.
"two brothers and a sister."
how would she react to find that her parents had been so disgustingly prolific? 
mahler too thought of thade, and how radiant this moment could not more be to have had all of them together, if even for a time.