Otatso Wetlands Break free and leave us in ruins
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Ooc — ebony
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#26
the ponderous chassis of mahler stalled in the snowdrift as stag made his debut challenge. 
wylla did not move.
in the eternal time between step and collision, the gargoyle heard the voice of takiyok, breaking upon the struggle of her last child's birth. it had been the only time she had let out a sound. she had brought stag into the world in silence and in peace; mahler remembered too starkly the cries the tiny mouth had admitted; a mouth grown into a muzzle long with fangs that closed on the edge of his haunch, drawing first blood and sending a swordblade of shock knifing through the gargoyle.
the tear of flesh dripped crimson again; he lurched away from the hard jaw of the younger man, suddenly flush with the scarlet blurring of rage before his lilac eyes. not humiliation; he had not wanted to face the boy, had meant to be away before this happened! — 
beyond the alabastrine shoulder of stag, wylla's face, etched with dread and with dismay; it was this that hauled back on the taut rein of his dissolving control, but lavender eyes had darkened.
of himself had the boy made a rival; mahler had meant each word spoken, and would honour whatever choice she made, but he had not extended that to the swift in-sweep that stag had dared. he would not tolerate it; he had not from praimfaya and he would not from a lesser man. 
love for son and the balefire means to punish stag writhed together within mahler; he whirled tightly, meaning to send his shoulder bruising into stag's own, while broad jaws clamped for the top of the younger's muzzle; if his gambit paid off, the would-be challenger might find himself shoved into the snow beneath the man, held there by the stay of teeth that tightened.
or perhaps it would not be this thing. thought ceased. he did not clash now with stag for wylla's favour, and knew dimly that this would never ensure its return. but at the forefront of his mind, only the hot quickboil of wrath, driving him to demand whatever respect remained in his son. if not affection, then wariness; do not dare again.
mahler would have preferred to descend here, throat torn by the other; it would be better than returning to rivenwood in full knowledge now that she would not be coming back. he could have chosen to run, to allow stag the glory of chasing him away; he wondered why he did not; but too late now; he had meant to meet stag and would not turn back upon his word.
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i'm defeated and i gladly wear the crown
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#27
Too late then, for Stag — who an hour before would have never believed his strike against Mahler possible — who had never envisioned drawing blood from his once-general, his father, his idol. 

And yet here his fangs were sent, drawing their pound of flesh across Mahler’s haunch. Wylla was somewhere behind him — still, no doubt in shock for his insolence. Stag’s eyes widened, belatedly horrified — but too late, too late now to go back. 

Now came his burning defeat, his height of humiliation— for Mahler made quick work of the insolent pup beneath his teeth. Stag was countered immediately, forced down to the ground as a string of painful teeth fell across his muzzle. 

No yelp, no snarl in rebuke — just the sudden gasp of a wolf handily slapped across the face, who now breathed only because Mahler willed it.
and it brings me to you, but i won't just past through
i'm not asking for a storm.  
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Ooc — Chelsie
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#28
It took almost no time for Mahler to fell Stag, a sight which speared Wylla with sudden fear. She never had cause to feel that way around him before. Wylla thought many things about Mahler, most of them negative, these days, but she'd never been afraid of him. Knowing that he could take Stag's life from him here and now put all rational thoughts from her mind.

She imagined blood, red against the snow on the ground—

her daughter's terrified cries as some man imposed himself upon her

—Wylla's inability to save Tiercel, coalescing into a need to save Stag.

Stop! she shrieked, stumbling forward as though to push between them, though she felt much too weak to actually succeed. Stop! I'll do whatever you want, I'll come with you, just... Just let him go!

It was the measure of how much Wylla cared about young Stag and his well-being that she was willing to toss aside her freedom and her dignity to follow Mahler home, to where misery awaited her, in exchange for the boy's safety.
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Ooc — ebony
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#29
had she not heard him? had she not seen his words as the outpouring of love he had meant them to be? come back at any cost, only come back. mahler was releasing the boy even as wylla crowded close, her single sunflower eye 
stag had only gasped once, given nothing else —
burning into his own with desperation —
mahler stared at her. "i vould never vant you to come back in that vay," shock coldwater running through his arteries and muscles until he realized what he had done, what he had become so very swiftly in her eyes. how could she know that he would not kill stag?
a snort of his breath as he eyed the boy. but pride remained; he would not be the one to leave their presence.
"go," the gargoyle seethed; a foolish child, consumed by wylla's scent. aside from his love for the son of his kill-brother, it would have been too easy to kill the boy, not an even match, and in this there was shame too.
no warmth left to the doktor as he raised his head to stare at the both of them, the inside of his starlight heart dissolving into ash, but stoneflower gaze a hardened spread of gemstone. 
want her he did, yet wylla truly believed he would take her hostage, and this he meant to dispel with a weighted step backward, inviting no more conflict unless it came from the snowlimbed boy.
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#30
Those two seconds that Mahler made quick work of him were brutally short — yet the humiliation Stag felt was enough to last a lifetime. 

Panting under Mahler’s grip, Stag heard rather than saw Wylla as she came forward to his aid — he winced, feeling shame sicken his gut. She was undeserving of him. He’d made a fool of himself in front of the two wolves he arguably cared most about. His heartbeat quickened while his rage seemed to beat to a smothered close: what was he thinking?

He was an idiot. A goddamned stupid idiot. And now Stag feared Wylla would only ever see him as the cub quickly bested by her ex-lover. 

The moment he felt Mahler’s release Stag leapt to his feet. Rather than run, he stood close to Wylla, unable to meet Mahler’s eyes. He wanted to put distance between them and his moment of burning shame — but he would not leave Wylla behind.
and it brings me to you, but i won't just past through
i'm not asking for a storm.  
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Ooc — Chelsie
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#31
It was over as quick as it began. Stag uttered no sound, just a gulp of air, while Mahler backpedaled and openly gaped at her with shock rippling silently across his expression, from the drop of his lip as he spoke to a twitch of his whiskers. She stared back, hard and frigid.

That is what you want, she pronounced, forging ice into a thin blade now that Stag was free and safe behind her. Fool. She thought better of him, and had no words for him right this moment. Nevertheless, she trembled with adrenaline and the lingering fear that he could have died because of her, and it made her eyes burn with anguish.

Maybe Mahler did not want to drag her unwillingly back to Rivenwood, but all the same, he sought to chain her to his dream. No want of hers could ever earn his regard unless it aligned with his own—he made it clear by asking her to come back after she had told him she could not.

I told you I could not come back, yet here you are, ignoring that. You refuse to right the wrong you have wrought. I left Sagtannet because of how you treated me. Taikon's challenge was only that: a challenge from an insecure little man who was new to the pack and, apparently, struggled with authority. She could have weathered it, albeit indignantly, if only Mahler had supported her. But what was it he had said, instead?

You did tell me that you deserved better.

How can you even imagine I would wish to return to Rivenwood when you don't seem like you've changed at all? Are you truly content to minimize our hurt and our grief and our grievances, so long as you get what you want? What is the difference, then? She lifted her chin as though to stare down at him, despite the way he towered over her, emboldened by both cold disappointment and hormonal angst and loneliness to make him hear her this time. Stag was, of course, part of the package. Wylla did not love him the way Mahler seemed to think and had no intention of bedding down with him, but he was as good as a son to her, and she would not leave him behind, either.

I am done giving up things for someone who will not do the same for me. I loved you, Mahler, and I would have left my home for you in a heartbeat, but I think your ego is all that really matters to you. I mean everything to you, except when I ask you to do something, right? She tore her gaze away finally, wrinkled her muzzle in a snarl, and said, if you ever get over yourself, then we can talk. Even then, she wasn't sure how she could reverse all this. She'd wanted to be his wife, but all the times it would have mattered, he hadn't asked.

All the times he had asked were fraught with rage and misery for her, such that she could not accept without losing the last shred of self-respect she had.
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Ooc — ebony
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#32
i am done —
a death knell, and mahler struggled to hear the rest of what wylla said. he must remain in control; stag had not fled but stood subdued close to the she-wolf now lashing his ears with the end the end the end —
i am done.
wylla, finished, mahler, always unraveling but never quite there. he had made his last plea and she had seen the selfishness in it, the inability to at last relinquish his hold upon the last place he had built. and that, the sum of it. land before her, no matter how he sought to transform and change it. it was not himself he was changing, he supposed bitterly.
wylla did not quite close the proverbial door, but her words landed heavy and stonelike to strike against him.
mahler wanted to snap that he could not change, but was did that hold truth? was he only silently horrified at the idea of being untethered from something to which he might point as legacy? a matter for another time.
"go," he seethed, turretted fur searing high upon his nape again. "not for me. for him. for you. he cannot protect you if somevone else comes upon you here." another man might outright slay the yearling and claim what wylla's figure pulsated, and in this open sloping territory — paternalism mingled with evasion, unwillingness to mire himself in another sharp retort of words; he had made himself naked and she had burned him once more, and arrogance warred with reason hotly.
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Ooc — Chelsie
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#33
I don't take orders from you, she frigidly reminded Mahler, and I do not require the protection of any man, you misogynist prick. I can handle myself. She kept her gaze focused on him a long while, daring him to speak and try to absolve himself of the things she'd named him, and then turned and left anyway. Left both of them, for she aimed a temperamental snap in Stag's direction that warned him not to follow.

Not because Mahler had commanded her to go, but because Wylla was sick of the sight of him, and upset about Stag's behaviour, and she couldn't stand to remain here with either of them presently.