Nova Peak schädigen

he did not know what he wished! he did not know what he wanted! mahler, a man of middle-age, with four
do not forget the first
children, had never chiseled out what he wanted the future to resemble. leadership for years, his own land. apt at staking his claim to a piece of rock, skilled with his defense of it, knowlegeable of each small growing green thing and their useful properties. 
"i vant peace, vylla. and now i do not ... i vill do vhat i must to accomplish that." 
ciri, her small, hurt features. elke, more wondering — gott hilf mir — he had left them both in moonspear, had left them there, had thrown them away, and his heart began to race.
what if he returned -- no.
no, he could not abandon sagtannet as well, nor thade, nor phaedra. 
in the turnings of his mind, the gargoyle knew it was finished. why did she keep him here, ask after his wants as if she had not spent her voice upon telling him the myriad ways he had been so selfish with them.
mahler near wished that wylla would only tell him what he must do, and he would find it done. but she stood instead with that string of words stretching between them
is that what you want?
jaws wished to offer it back, to parrot it into her upthrust ears and —
i deserve better
"i do not vant to be an obstacle to your life." a stumbling block, something to which she felt she must tether herself for the sake of their half-grown children. he had erased her regard for him, and so he did not, did not know why
she asked what he desired.
he felt as if he were winnowing to nothing, chaff forced away by the breath swelling her flanks. in entirety, a surreal portion of stained-glass rupturing from a second-story window. lavender eyes were upon her own singled gaze but mahler was unseeing, hovering in two parts. 
"what i vanted has hurt you." rote, mechanical. "it does not matter what i vish now, vylla. it is your choice." please do not ask me again, the begging curled in the hollow of his throat