Arrow Lake nach vorne

"and i vill do my best to meet yours, ketzia," came the thrum of his words. she did not trust him, and though he would not stop her, mahler was unsure that he could handle again the departing backs of children he had come to love. the little goddess too, perhaps, in his own way, though it was an admission the general would never make. he dared not speak the names of his own kith; how could he dream of her own in that way? or takiyok's, or —
mahler lifted his muzzle somewhat, searching ketzia's features with a questing tilt to his lips. of the winterwhite: did she believe it was due to his sentiment that she had been elevated? "vhat is in her heart but the memory of a man who vould have been her husband?" mahler voiced softly. "i sought only to honour him in you both."
there were other and more selfish reasons; the gargoyle would spare them both the lie that he had done it solely out of love for his late kill-brother, but the women who had loved him, and who stigmata had loved in his rogue manner; it was fitting they now were at diaspora's helm, where they had always belonged.
she was one of them now, mahler realized, a trio of faces which swirled through his dreams in the darkness of autumn. and to none of them could he commit, nor could he force himself to choose —  his judgement of stigmata was waning more and more each day.