Sleepy Fox Hollow lächeln

That was all Mahler needed to say for the door to Wylla's soul to close. The first time he mentioned his plans she had merely scoffed the way she thought any self-respecting woman would scoff. Men, ever unsatisfied with what they had, ever reaching for more than they deserved. Such had been her judgment of Mahler's intentions, and her thoughts had gone to the children produced from his ambitions. To live in a world with a father whose attentions were so divided...

Wylla was glad her father had simply never returned. It would be less cruel.

Now, however, there was a more poignant pain that came with his confirmation. Where it came from, Wylla didn't know. It wasn't like she had plans to have children with him, nor any desire to see whatever they shared take off that quickly with that level of obligation. She wasn't ready for anything more than whatever they'd shared just now. It was hard enough deciding on any given day if she enjoyed his company or wanted only to escape it, which was the first clue that she was more invested than she wanted to be; Wylla only knew how to run from good things, because good things had never been allowed to remain that way for her. What he did with his cock was his business, not hers, so why did it sting to know nothing had changed in spite of her silent admission to him?

Good luck with that, she said, biting back the urge to be much more scathing, but her pace quickened as the completely unwarranted pain of rejection (as if he had ever done so) blossomed in her stomach.

wylla clicked shut. gone was the heated temptation of the last moment; gone even the barest hint of warmth. she simply gathered her skirts and briskly walked on, leaving mahler to stand burdened with mute frustration at her back.
"vylla," finally the man pleaded in a baritone; he let out his stride until he was apace with the she-wolf. "vylla, if you vere in my place, and i in yours, if you had made obligations before you ever knew that i vould come back —"
would she pause now to look upon him? lavender eyes seeking; seeking: mahler would not stop her, but smarted to think he had harmed her in some way yet again.
and then there reared the other portion of his mind, which snapped that she was only another woman who seeked to terraform the general into something he was not. mahler had never been one to break promises, nor the beginnings of one. why would wylla demand he do so now?
if she did not stop now, the man would slow, would watch the woman's quick whipping steps carry her away and away and away.

He sought to compare them when there was no room for comparison. Wylla could at most mother one litter, while Mahler could father hundreds if he so chose. Perhaps it was solely the difference between womanhood and manhood that coloured their differences of opinion here, but when he sped after her with his attempts to put her in his shoes, Wylla ground to a halt in the snow and whirled upon him.

Her voice was even, but her eyes flashed with fire. If I made some grand proclamation of love to you upon your return, and if I had any reason to believe you returned even an iota of those feelings, then I would break every obligation, she swore, lashing her tail behind her with finality. A single child born from a seed of love would be worth more to me than a hundred promises. But to Mahler, all that seemed to matter was having as many children as he possibly could, and not the feelings of the women or the children he used in the process.

For what? An empire? More fool him when they all demanded more of him than he could ever give, more than even the women in his life already did. And if I had no intentions of doing so, then I would not play at love, she snapped, turning on her heel and marching once more through the churned snow. It wasn't like she was asking him to break his obligations; she was merely disinterested in being just a number in a long line of women. Another obligation, as it were.

they are muy excelente at ending every other meeting this way *smacks mahler about*

he had meant it generally — put yourself into a place where you must make all sundry decisions. but of course he had communicated this poorly, of course wylla robbed him of his tongue's usual ability, of course!
she rounded upon him and scored him time and again with her own lashings, which stung all the more for her restraint. the flame of mahler rapidly cooled, for that was all he knew to do; features closed to colorless passivity.
but rapidly his mind worked, mulling over all wylla had said; he was by turns aggrieved and affronted. was the utterance of love to be the end-all for everything that had come before? why would such fickle emotion rule her, and how could she ask it of him?
should i be swayed by every declaration of love!? he wanted to shout after her, but remained rooted. should my feeling for you alter all of your future? you have not even formally returned my affection!
and he would be accused of selfishness!
prideful pluming of breath spilling from flared nostrils; the general planted himself stubborn and bull-like to watch wylla go, and then swept himself about-face and marched arrogantly off to attend a more secluded clime where he might agonize over the truth of what she had said, and the reality of his own carefully laid way.

It's more fun that way. >:)

He said nothing, but if only she knew the thoughts in his head! Wylla had all but screamed at him that she felt for him, just then, but it mattered not. Sure, some of this flaring temper was likely the result of her agitation as her body wreaked havoc on her, but most of it was purely and simply Wylla being Wylla. She was a woman who could simultaneously be the most selfish of wolves while pinning that title on everyone that wasn't her.

For expecting him to change his plans just because she'd pressed her crown to his throat and physically returned his affection was selfish, but so was claiming to love her while bedding so many others. So he said nothing and she did not look back, leaving him there with both a fury and an ache in her chest.

She would not give in.