Nova Peak schädigen

Regret. Yes, indeed. It was her oldest and most familiar friend.

Wylla regretted so much of her life, it was a wonder she continued living it at all. She regretted the fateful hunt that had separated her from Lusca and Ingram at the age of 6 months, forced her to wander alone and grow into the hardened and suspicious creature she was even now. Regretted the founding of Grimnismal. Regretted permitting Caiaphas to live there and whelp there just because she had raised Lycaon. She regretted storming away from that pack in a fit of rage. She regretted Raptor. She regretted leaving Swiftcurrent Creek, and she regretted leaving Keokuk Glade to search for Tiercel.

She regretted ever finding Mahler instead, and she regretted staying in Diaspora with him, and she regretted falling into his arms when winter's frenzy came upon her. She regretted allowing him to seduce her with whispers of love and she regretted waiting so very long for him to show her that he wasn't just screwing with her head when he said he loved her. Yes, she had made a mistake in believing that he was capable of the kind of love she'd dreamed of as a very young girl. What man who made pacts on the lives of children could be capable of such? If she had foreseen where they stood now then she would have fought her nature and denied him, let him fulfill his pacts without her, and had no part in it.

But Phaedra? Thade? Even Tiercel? Even if the three stood before her intent on tearing her throat clean out, she could never regret their lives. She would have waited until such a time as his contracts were ended, when he was free to give them his all, and not pulled in multiple different directions. Or she would have waited long enough to know that his love and her love had different definitions, and perhaps the father of her younger litter would have been someone else entirely.

A gust tore at the thin fur around her face and she shivered, but held fast to the ground. She needed to. If not for the grip of her paws on the soil, there was no telling how long or how far she would've wandered in her sorrow then. No telling if she would ever have turned back, or simply walked until she forgot where she'd come from and could never find her way back. For everything that Mahler had ever done to try to show he loved her—every wound he had carved into his heart, every barrier he had erected against all others—he simply could not comprehend what it was she really wanted.

It was simple, really, but they were two worlds apart. She wanted him to come home to her at night, every night. She wanted small gestures that showed he thought of her even when he was away and busy. She wanted to feel more important to him than his duty and obligation. She could not see the world the way he did. She was desperate for security most of all—the last time she felt sure of her place in the world was when she was a child. Nyx's only relevant crime, in truth, was that her contract had made Wylla feel uncertain of her place in Mahler's heart, and she had yearned for him to show her she had nothing to fear. He'd offered words instead. His gestures were valid ones but they were not ones that Wylla could see or feel, and so she did not know the lines he had carved into his heart in the name of setting her apart.

She'd only witnessed the way he grew angry when she asked for proof of the love he claimed to hold for her, felt the stab of his accusations, felt slighted and belittled when he stood against her rather than with her, and watched the way her daughter withdrew into herself and become an unhappy shell of who she might have been if not for damnable duty. Felt the sting of it when he'd asked her to be his without a proclamation of love. Just more duty in the promise of a title. Felt the deeper cut when he never asked again and never made more of an effort, but continued to show his love in ways that she read only as dismissive and unfeeling. Even now, she could not see his actions for what they were in his eyes.

He had sent his daughters away with Nyx and felt he had proven that he put her above the others tenfold in doing so despite the hurt it raked across his soul, returned because it was best for her and their children, and she felt only that he now blamed her for daring to feel hurt that the simpler, warmer gestures of love had never been given her, and blamed her for things she felt were well out of her control and hardly her responsibility.

She didn't know what she expected. Maybe an apology for the way he blamed her for the loss of his daughters, for she could not see into his head to see it the way he did. Maybe a declaration that he would do better, followed by actions that showed as much. What she did know was that she could not, in good conscience, raise any more children to be hurt and disappointed the way Phaedra had been. The way Tiercel had been, before her. If she was to ever have children again then it would be the result of a proper relationship, one proven in deeds and not words, one she could rely on. A man she could lean on. Someone she need not doubt. A proper foundation.

Do what you want, she said lowly, brokenly. Stay. Leave. It no longer seemed to matter to her. What fleeting future she'd glimpsed with him where he would make no more pledges to other women and would be hers alone in body and spirit was as good as gone. He didn't seem interested in rising to her standards for her mate, and she wasn't going to lower them, not when she felt so alone and scolded for having feelings he didn't like. She'd hoped, once, that he would do his duty to Nyx and their daughters but would prioritize his heart's family and she'd hoped that the coming spring they might welcome cubs born of love and stability and a promise to one another, without the trouble of outside obligations. That they would stand together, mutual. Not this.

Now, she supposed she needed to decide what to do with the rest of her life if there was no romanticized version of Mahler left inside him who might fight for the love he felt, for she would commit to—and give in return—no less. Maybe there wasn't even any love anymore. Maybe they had finally burned one another to ashes and there was nothing left at all for either of them to give.