Sleepy Fox Hollow brimming and broken and somehow

mahler, as he had learned to do, held his tongue. his eyes, too, upon the ungulates who shared this expanse of land with the wolves who controlled it. the vision of deer, of elk, of moose — it had flared with vivid light and color in many recollections shared with his snowflower.
who, now, was weeping silently, a trail of brinewater cutting its way across her ruffled pearlmade face. he could not see it, but knew surely it was there, twined with her admittance. mahler felt his heart quite frazzled, quite unmade; he shifted closer on weighted haunches and set his chin to hovering just lightly over the tip of phaedra's nearest ear —
"so much has happened. so much you — ve — did not expect," mahler caught blindly, stumbling through this true darkness of unknowing, and yet with now's comprehension that he stood upon far more solid ground with the dovewean than before.
"you have had so much change in your life, phaedra. do not blame yourself for the reaction of your eyes."