Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

so that was what had become of tiercel. mahler marvelled at how already this little game wylla had devised — for surely it was her own creation, as he had never heard of it before today — had already satisfied an unasked question.
however, mahler swiftly became glad that he was neck-deep within the grass, for his jaw tightened at how she had chosen to take her turn. not with anger; with the dread of feeling the bruise from buried, unhealed wounds.
how had she come so close?
mahler pulled from his hunt.
"i vas alone quite some time before i came to grimnismal. there vas a fever in my old pack. few of us escaped, and i learned to be on my own after that ordeal. but by the time i found the coast, i no longer vished to be alone. it had become static."
inspecting an aged elk print, he traded vulnerability for a closer question of his own: "vhy did you continue to let me see tiercel?"