The Tangle breathe

i want a @Mahler if u have time <3 vague for now

Conflict with the pack to the south — predictable, in a wry, sour sort of way. Yet he has pledged his loyalty to @Rosalyn, and he meant every word of it. He will not flee this war, no matter what it brings with it; even if that means sacrificing his last hopes of a peaceful life. He's spent far too long running to consider it now. His roots have been placed, with the scarred alpha and her wife as the foundation.
He takes to the hellhole where he'd met his new leader, gripped by his typical restlessness today, and a burning curiosity regarding his apparent new enemies. He doesn't dare get anywhere near their claim, but he lingers close enough to smell the wolves that have come and gone from that direction. Not many, it seems to him. A good sign, he hopes.

a shattered clay vessel.
he had no thoughts for the wolves of rusalka.
mahler left the borders of the peak and wandered unseeing toward the thick morass that lay between sagtannet and the cliffside; he felt as though the ground might swallow him.
the scent of the seawolves was near now; it enraged some tortured part of the gargoyle, and he lunged to identify the figure, so that when he came upon a familiar, feminine face etched in scars, it was with the full bristle and flag of his high plume.

A familiar figure appears, full of unfamiliar anger; he doesn't remember Mahler being so... aggressive. He does remember a time when he hadn't remembered him at all, and a time before that when the sight of the man had set his heart racing. Now, he's just alarmed. He steps back abruptly in the face of the bristling advance, several times before he feels safe with the distance. His own hackles ripple along his spine in automatic response, but he does not mirror the male's posturing. Mahler? He smells of the other pack, of the enemy. Alarian has to bite back the urge to laugh. It's such a bitterly strange position to find themselves in. The next words fall from him unbidden, driven by the same feeling. You never seemed like the type to start a war.

alarian. mahler reined himself back, a warhorse champing at the bit of his own emotions. "a lot has changed since ve last spoke." the briny reek of rusalka clung to the younger man. "and now ve appear to be enemies." 
wylla was leaving
he backed some steps, signalling to alarian the calling-off of his attack. the fight gone out of him, and the boy's face too known for the spirit to strike.

It isn't the response he'd hoped for — but then, he isn't sure any of them could have been. His ears tilt back slightly at the second statement, a tinge of disapproval to his expression. Why? War for the sake of it? I joined Rusalka on the premise of finding peace — of leaving behind the life that gave me all these scars, He steps forward, in case Mahler has forgotten the look of them. There is nothing threatening in his posture, but a heated challenge is growing, slowly, behind his eyes. The life Rosalyn and Erzulie are seeking, the one they'd all but promised, is all he's ever wanted. He hadn't thought the idea of war bothered him this much, before — but now, standing here, with someone familiar to blame... he's starting to get a little pissed off. And now that's being threatened — partially by someone whose life I once saved. Our history is worth your honesty, I think. Why are we enemies?

wylla was leaving wylla was going to leave wylla would be gone
"who knows vhy," mahler responded roughly, more than he had meant. a moment's regret and then it hardened in his heart. "go back and tell your leaders parley. do not come beyond this mess, and sagtannet vill not go beyond it ourselves."
he did not like being reminded of his debts;
she was going to leave
mahler wished to owe no beast ever again.
"so now it is over, alarian," and mahler turned his wide shoulders, beginning to trudge off the way that he had bludgeoned into the tangle unless the rusalkan stopped him.

The fire in him is doused before it truly begins, Mahler's words settling over him like a shock of cold water. Something has broken him, he thinks, surprised by the thought — but it feels right. It feels like the truth. The Mahler he'd known hadn't been like this.
So now it is over.
He almost watches him go in silence, almost lets the moment slip between his fingers, sand in the wind. But reality abruptly reclaims him, snapping him back to the moment to the sound of his own voice. Mahler — He calls, before he knows he's going to. Another few steps forward, uncertain. I don't know what happened to you — What made you so dark, so clouded — But I'm sorry... and I'm here. He turns to take his own leave, and then adds, Thank you. The somberness of it makes it feel almost worthless as a sentiment, but he wouldn't feel right if he left it unsaid. Maybe he'd burned a bridge here, and he doesn't regret that (not if it's for Rosalyn, for Rusalka, for Midar and their life together), but he will never close the door entirely on Mahler. Given the option, he would find him and tend to him past the snarls and snaps a million times over, if only to see the man thrive somewhere in the world. He loves him in his own indirect, distant way — in the unique way one can only love a perfect stranger they know solely through brief snapshots of their life, scattered over the years; just enough to get the sense that there is a person behind it all, someone you might root for and grieve with and rally behind if you truly knew them.
But he doesn't know him. And that's why he leaves.

alarian's voice, sweetsmoke that tugged him into a standstill. for a long moment he stood with the line of his back turned upon the sylph; he dared not look into the other's face, for fear the melding edges of him would fracture.
she was going to leave
an ugly talisman of a mental chant.
slowly he turned his muzzle to look back, the stone lilac of his eyes more implacable than before. "you should not have saved me. i have done nothing vith the life you gave but cause hurt. it is a vorthless existence, and you vould do vell to keep your distance."

Except —
How can he leave when someone comes out with some emo shit like that? Walking away would be a crime at this point; accessory to murder of someone's mental well-being or something. He stops, turning, frowning. That can't be true, He says, before he can stop himself. No one is worthless — and if anyone is, you're not the first candidate. A slight pause, and he changes his mind, fueled by stubbornness and a sudden need to prove Mahler wrong, one way or another. An insistent repayment of the offer of a meeting between their packs. I'm not going anywhere. I'll let you have all the time you need — but as long as our packs are neighbors, you'll have to deal with me caring. I've seen your face way too many times to just stop caring about what happens to it.

passionate as alarian was and had always been, his zealot nature did not reach the arctic recesses growing in mahler with each passing moment.
he stared emptily at the boy for a long second and then turned away, regretting having ever spoken so plainly. life had been easier when he had bent his head beneath the plow; he would return to it, a grinding in his soul. again he paced onward, intending this time to ignore any heartfelt words as he should have done in the first.

A blank stare, silence — and Mahler turns, remaining a stranger to him. A distant figure in a picture book, a character in a beloved story. Mahler the man, flesh and blood and sins and sorrows, fades away from him again, and he's left with only the silhouette.
And he's okay with that. He'd meant every word he'd said, and if the other man is never more than a passing acquaintance to him through it all, he'll still be okay with it. That is the way things have always been between them. Mahler's life will go on as it had, and so will his. Eventually they'll meet again, and Alarian will remember all the reasons he's drawn to Mahler, and all the ways he can never know him. Maybe by the time they see each other next, the lilac-eyed man will have found someone to help heal whatever hole has torn itself into his heart. It's clear by now that Alarian will never get close enough to try. He turns and departs, this time with a purpose to his stride.