Jade Fern Grove klagelied

At the end of it all, he saw only that she had left—not the necessity of it, not the pain and humiliation of living among those who outright rejected her as their leader and would revile her for her mistake, not that she had given everything she could to him and to Sagtannet and received not even their trust in return—but that she had left, and was not worthy.

That was how Wylla took his decision, anyway. It crashed through the last remaining semblance of security she had, sent her out into the cold with not even a blanket to shield her naked soul. Molten anguish crashing through her veins, searing her from the inside out. Anger, quick to follow. Mahler, and Mahler alone, had been the reason she could not stay with Sagtannet. He had allowed the pack to tear down her authority and done nothing about it. He had not stood beside her in support of her role among them, whether he supported her wants or not, but allowed them to diminish her. Now, to return would be to be mocked for the rest of her days. In his voice now, she imagined relief: he would not have to deal with her anymore. His problem was gone. He could live his easy life with his easy decisions and forget all about she who had made things so difficult for him. He could relish in the attention of his children and tell himself that she deserved it.

Because she left. Because he let her.

The sour taste of bile in her mouth, to be rejected so handily. With him, her, Stag, Phaedra, and Thade—young adults now, not the little children they had once been, but capable young wolves—their life would have been just as easy. They were practically a pack unto themselves. She did not think Stag would forgive Sagtannet, but surely he would forgive the man he knew as a father? And if others chose to come, to follow Mahler, so long as they allowed her to live beyond her mistakes in a world of her own making, she could accept that. But he would not come. She mattered to him less than territory and titles and power and subordinates.

She pulled away. She had to. Fragments of herself were unraveling in the wake of her tearing heart and she had to pull away from him so he could not suck them into his gravity and she would lose them forever. She had sworn not to cry but her eyes filled with tears. He didn't need her. He didn't even want her. He didn't love her anymore. His life was easier and better without her and he would rather stand alone with Sagtannet, the wolves who followed him and him alone, than seek a future with her where they could be happy, together. If the rejection of her pack had made her feel worthless then the rejection of Mahler killed any self confidence that remained to her, ensuring she would never reclaim it.

I would... But there was no point saying it. Who cared what she would do for him? Mahler did not care for every sacrifice she had made for him along the way. Tiercel—her daughter, lost in the world, desecrated, left to watch her children die alone, because Wylla had stayed within Diaspora to raise children with Mahler and nurture a tiny spark of love instead of continuing her search. Her children, hurting, because Wylla had allowed it to continue. Her eye, lost, because she had foolishly followed him to the cliffs to fight for his wounds. Her pride, shriveled and discarded. She would not have hesitated to follow her heart—leadership was not something she needed, and she believed those who followed would understand the beckoning of the heart and would go on, but evidently, he needed it a lot more than he loved her. She laid her heart bare for him and he wanted none of it.

It was all or nothing for Mahler. She had two choices: to make a fool of herself returning to a pack that did not want her so he could continue his dream in spite of hers, or to walk away and lose everything she cared about. There was no world where he would meet her halfway.

They would understand, she weakly shuddered, not knowing if that was true. It was desperation. They could be happy. All of it made so much sense to her, they could ally with Sagtannet, maintain all he had built with friendship but start anew themselves, but he did not want a future with her. He was better without her. She'd been right: the more she gave, the less he wanted her, wasn't that how it went? Did he even miss her, or had he fallen out of love with her entirely? Was she was just another inconvenience for him and now that she was gone, he had all he truly wanted? Time with her perhaps confirming that for him. He could fuck every woman, have a dozen children each year, guilt free. What more could a man want? No wonder he did not want to come with her. And all she could do was back away and shake her head and clamp her shaking jaws over the sob she wanted to loose and channel all of her strength into keeping herself standing, because she could not let him bring her to her knees this way. Not again.