Sleepy Fox Hollow Folk star

the small weight of her against his chest provoked a spate of something snarled, tangled, and altogether pure to spiral out inside mahler, to shudder and reframe; the man drew a shaking breath and lowered his muzzle to kis gently between her ears; oh, wylla, wylla, the lightning cloaked in thunder. she pierced him through and through, over and over.
"i still vould have vaited. foolish or not. i am stubborn. you are the same." it was a part of their mutual attraction, he believed, each seeking to stand against the other, each meeting the other upon a plane of firmness and intellect reached by few others. respect, then. and the ardor of it.
and her scent, pulsing with the existence of ihre kinder.
it called to him, beckoned past the spires of general and man and wolf to pluck upon the chord of father.
tears now, rainwet upon his cheeks; mahler made no move to end them or to stop them, a wordless sound rising in his throat as he swept wylla closer, closer.
"i do not regret it. i knew too vhat vould happen. but it vas you. it vas vhat i had vanted for so long."
desire now, not the conflagration of heat, but something soft and rose-hued, protective, gentle. he sought to kiss what features he might reach, then drew back slowly, seeking wylla's sunflower eyes. mahler wanted her then, ached with a sudden great hunger, but she was early now in her pregnancy, and though he did not think such subjection would harm her or they, he would prefer to be safe. content he must be, then, to merely look upon her, favor her with caresses.
"do you think i might ..." what was this new sensation? "speak vith them, also?"

Leaning her head into the plush fur of Mahler's breast brought forth a slew of emotions that left Wylla fighting for her composure. What she wouldn't do to have Tiercel with her right now. The fiery lash of her daughter's sass would cut her to the core, but she felt like it was what she needed. A reminder that not everything needed to be so heavy—there could still be play and banter and teasing. Things would change now but some things would remain the same, for better or worse.

A bubble of watery laughter leapt to Wylla's lips when Mahler declared them both stubborn. She would argue until her dying day that he was twice the stubborn old fool that she was, but that was their game, was it not? Who could say if things would transpire differently if he had waited. She might never have found him alluring without the threat of losing him.

His kisses coaxed her to look up into the lavender of his gaze, ordinarily so cool, now a warm little flame in the hearth. Mahler asked a question that frankly dumbfounded Wylla. It might've been less confusing if she hadn't dealt with her pregnancy alone last year, but she truly had no idea that speaking to unborn cubs was a thing. She believed they were alive and that it was a sin to kill the unborn, but she didn't think you could talk to them. What? she asked, perplexed. Speak with who?

"the little vones," he dared. he had done this with marigold, and was struck suddenly with a little vignette of memory: his bride reclining in sunlight, he at her side, murmuring awkwardly to the gentle swell of her sides. a flash of a smile at wylla then, bidding her to tell him if it was too great an intimacy for the moment.
"i think that children know the voice of their father and mother," he told to wylla gently, softly. "i vould like them to hear mine." would she understand, he hoped.
an image so idyllic surged within mahler now; he filled with a warmth, and knew the truth of his love, the breadth of it.
he would be hers, once he had kept his promises. he would be no man who abandoned children. their mothers too, he knew; his duties would not end when they had brought forth his young.
but mahler belonged to wylla.
he had always belonged to her.

What Mahler proposed in that moment was so preposterous that Wylla wanted to laugh in his face. Surely he was joking. But her searching yellow eyes, sharp for the signs of a jest, saw no such betrayal in his expression and for once she curtailed her tongue before it could deliver the stinging kiss of yet another barb.

Um, said Wylla, drawing away from him with a suppressed snort of nervous laughter. I don't know if I believe all that, but you can... talk to them, if you want. This was delivered just ahead of the realization that she had no idea how this worked. A sheepish smirk lifted her lips then. How stupid. She'd had a kid and she still didn't really know how to be a mother, and she didn't know why the idea of Mahler talking to her mute stomach was so endearing, but it was. As endearing as it was silly.

What do I have to do? she asked, having angled herself so he might reach her growing flank, but was there more to it than that?

wylla gave up her usual atheistic arguments, which amused mahler. stoneflower eyes watched her settle into a more reachable position, and for a long moment the general allowed himself to appreciate her new curvatures.
unfortunately, mahler's more objective mind was also active, and another moment passed while he tried to ascertain the number of seedlings. and their size. takiyok had struggled, and she was a much more amazonian she-wolf than wylla.
he cleared his throat; now his turn to be sheepish. lying himself down, mahler inched closer to the budding rise of her side and;
"ich muss ehrlich sein. ich weiß nicht, was ich tue, kleine enten"
children deserved honesty, and he was determined to do this as correctly as he was able.

Apparently she didn't need to anything. She felt completely ridiculous standing there while Mahler lowered himself to the earth and began to murmur words in a language she didn't understand to her side. This whole thing was just... silly. There was no way whatever budding offspring were in there could hear or understand a word he was saying. Wylla shifted her feel, clearly uncomfortable about the whole thing.

She chose to focus less on what he was doing and more on what he was saying, but none of the words rung a bell with her. She hoped the plan wasn't for her children to speak that language. She was unlikely to be able to pick up a new language in anything less than five years, given how stubborn she was, and she would prefer their kids not be equipped with a secret language that Mom doesn't know.

What did you say? she asked, wrinkling her nose to prevent herself from snorting at this whole entire thing.

"i said, 'i do not know what i am doing,'" mahler murmured, marvelling at wylla's continued skepticism. in many ways, she made him seem a bumbling pagan, given over to all manner of idle and worthless thoughts. she was practical, scientific, a match for the logic that had earned her ire only some moments before.
the gargoyle surged upward, shook out his ruff, regarded her with sunwarmed amethyst gaze. "let me hunt for you," he invited again, seeking some small way he might show his adoration, his devotion to both wylla and their unborn babes.

She was as atheistic as they came, Wylla. All such displays were looked upon with an intolerance akin to scorn. She was also superstitious and concerned that things like prayers were secretly witch's curses. She'd been quite harsh to Maegi as a result of that. She permitted Mahler to do this only because she cared deeply for him—anyone else would've been swiftly chased away.

Thought you had kids once, she said, a little insensitively. She hadn't forgotten that he said they were killed by fever, but it didn't cross her mind in the moment. He'd been good with Tiercel, too, even if Wylla wanted nothing to do with him back then. How could he claim to not know what he was doing? As though to shake off the strangeness of the last few minutes, she gave her ruff a jerk and stamped one paw.

You can hunt, she allowed, but I'm not so useless yet that I can't. I'll help.

he had meant to convey that this was altogether different, frightening in a new way, but only the nuance of his old-tongue communicated the implication.
mahler was caught off-guard by wylla's retort, blinking momentarily into the irritated yellow suns of her face. it was not that his skills were in question; he simply did not know how to say what he wished.
deciding not to comment upon her words, the man's face lit with a wry expression. mahler would have preferred that wylla remain upon the sidelines and allow him to provide for her, but that had never been her way, and never would. "i am open to it," he teased gently, looking to walk alongside the woman in search of where easier prey might be found.

Wylla expected Mahler to protest, but he did no such thing. Her dark gums split into a wry smile instead, pleasantly surprised with his response. It lacked the cool formality he usually presented himself with. He was teasing her. What a strange feeling. It'd been a while.

Wise choice, said Wylla, surging ahead in the snow with a phantom nip toward his cheek as she went. Since she was a swift chaser, she was willing to bet she was a better hunter than Mahler. Even if she wasn't, she could help him secure a kill or two he might otherwise miss. Coming? she prompted with a smirk before taking off at a gallop.

Can fade here or continue, either is fine by me!

fading here! <

wylla's speed certainly assured her a higher ranking above his own skill at the hunt. he was happy for her company, not only for her very presence, but the confident way in which they worked together. if he could keep his mouth shut always, he might never anger wylla again. a laugh, and mahler was off, coursing just behind her.