Sleepy Fox Hollow Gain the weight of you, then lose it

The spark of certainty in Mahler's voice did much to bolster Wylla, even though she, too, knew there was no guarantee. A sickly throbbing in her shoulder and waves of vertigo made it impossible to forget that she was still walking a fine line. The infection could reach her blood and drive her to madness and certain death, or the fever could return and fry her brain in the night, or any manner of other misfortunes. Wylla knew this, but she was beyond grateful that Mahler made an effort to sound sure of himself instead of his typical cold logic.

But to live, she had to stand and walk. Between the fever and sickness sapping her strength and the days since she'd last had a proper meal, Wylla wasn't sure she could manage that. Somewhere deep beneath the layers of depression and grief that shrouded her, she still boasted the fierce determination that deserved the name he'd given her, but she didn't know if that was enough this time.

She must make of it a matter of pride, then. Showing vulnerability was one thing, but outright weakness? Wylla could not stand to be weak in front of Mahler. She allowed him to brush her forehead with his mouth, sending a secret shiver down her spine that caught fire as it reached her shoulders and reminded her, again, of the pain there. Seizing upon the desire to seem stronger than she was, she tensed her paws and then began to haul herself up.

It took a far greater effort than she expected it to. Her thin face was lined with frustration and determination alike and she really did struggle to do it alone, but if not for Mahler's steadying figure to keep her from collapsing, she would never have made it to her feet. Even when she finally gained them, it felt like every muscle in her body was paralyzed and she weighed ten times her normal amount. She was breathing hard just from the effort. The wound in her shoulder screamed in protest and angry, putrid pus leaked into her fur from the edges.

Okay, she panted, casting another glance in Phaedra's direction. How she wished she could simply clutch her daughter and remain here. But brushing shoulders with death only to witness her daughter's exhaustion in the wake of creating a medication specifically for her once and for all solidified Wylla's desire to live; she clenched her teeth and hissed through the first step with her injured shoulder, leaning heavily on Mahler to ensure she didn't fall.