Otatso Wetlands Break free and leave us in ruins

So much of what Mahler said simply didn't matter, because she thought she had made it clear to him that she could not return to Sagtannet, or Rivenwood, or whatever bloody name it went by now. That had not changed, but he seemed to think that it had. Once again, he proved that she was worth everything to him only when it was convenient for him. She discovered then, with a gut-wrenching finality, that whatever existed between them was conditional on her being complicit to his every want and whim, while he selfishly refused to give an inch in return.

She certainly could not return if she would be expected to bow her head to Praimfaya, of all wolves. She remembered keenly how that brat had no respect for authority when she lived with Sagtannet. Praimfaya was the last wolf who deserved one lick of Wylla's respect.

Besides, she thought sullenly, you can't trust this coward man to stand by you when his wretched pack treats you like shit. That was inevitable. Wylla had never enjoyed a moment of peace in her life, except when she was with her mother in Keokuk Glade. Whether she was leader or subordinate, it seemed she was doomed to sneers and disrespect—unwilling to acknowledge that this was her own doing, more oft than not—and so she had always aimed to lead, because if she couldn't enjoy basic decency either way, at least she could make her own fate that way. Leave it to the whims of Rivenwood's collection of women? Ha!

She opened her mouth, ready to deliver an ultimatum to shake his bones—if she was even to entertain the notion of returning with him, catering to his incredible arrogance and devaluing herself again in the process, then she would be in charge, and she would leave his ass the second he allowed that foundation to be rocked again—but snapped it shut when Stag broke rank and charged.

Wylla was prepared to defend Stag from Mahler even if it meant drawing her last breath if the former Eisen attacked his adoptive son, but she hadn't counted on Stag being the one to throw the first punch. That was not a fight she could rightly intervene on. She couldn't embarrass or insult Stag that way, any more than she could reinforce Mahler's preposterous notion that she was going to go fuck the boy by standing beside him, much less bringing the cubs back for him to raise, as though she had even a passing interest in bearing another child to a fucked up family situation. She could only watch helplessly, paws rooted, as the boy went for the man, and she knew it was likely one would kill the other...

Two wolves she loved, in different ways, but just as wholly...

How could she sleep at night in the vicinity of either one of them, if they spilled the blood of the other, right in front of her, like she was some meaty haunch to squabble over? Horror and disappointment laced together into an intricate weave that held Wylla in thrall, unable to step in on behalf of either wolf, for Stag had started the fight, and she had thought better of him than this.