Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

the general had taken up a comfortable pattern of finding a physical distraction each time his mind attempted a trek toward one of the larger issues weighing at him. 
thus far the man had found a dessicated berry-bush, an antler-tine thrown by a buck, and —
wylla.
she appeared not far off, her own pelage calling to the surprised, rapid blinking that rose to capture his eyelids. likewise, for a long moment mahler stood, unsure, and then began to trudge in hopes of closing the distance.
they would be, now, general and soldier; he flagged his plume affably. "vylla. i hope you rested vell. there is a ring of caves nearby, and i vas going to explore them," mahler explained, lifting muzzle into the cold breeze ruffling icy fingertips at his well-guarded nape. he was careful not to stare at her; a mere glance to sate him when he truly wished was to ask if she had dreamt of him in the night. 
fanciful!
"join me if you please, othervise i heard a shudder from above not long ago." a warning; a quick smile; he forced himself not to linger and turned to traipse away, slowly if she intended to follow, slowly while he gathered composure.