Night. It was always night, it seemed, a world bathed in silver with cold, deep and dark shadows. Stars twinkled far above, and Irma soared gently through the sky on quiet wings, watching the ground with her bleached-out eyes. Sleeping, awake, patrolling, she saw them all, her keen gaze drawn to their movements before sweeping on again. All seemed at peace, in order, and somewhere far below her Mauja raised his white head to peer out across the Basin, to open his lungs and drink in the familiar night air. Had this place become home, then? Had his heart and mind forgotten the scent of brine, the lullaby of wind through trees, the cold, damp touch of fog on his legs? Had he accepted fate? Slowly his ears rotated back, an expression of indefinite sadness upon his face before he heaved a sigh. He could contemplate that another day (or night) — life was long, and if he had any say in it, he'd walk the forested halls of the Edge as King again before he died.

Irma slipped on through the skies, her wings rustling silently in the gentle night breeze. Moonlight glowed upon her, transforming her into a ghost of sorts, and giving her bonded a slight nudge she angled down. Locking her white appendages in a glide the owl swept lower, peering upon the dark form of Faelene, hidden in shadows. To her predator's eye she seemed tired, lurking not in the splendor of silver light but within the dark. Frowning, Mauja swept his ears forward again, and started to pick his way down from the mountainside. Was something wrong, or was she just sleeping?

Was something wrong...

He couldn't fool himself any longer, not that it had ever been his intention to fool himself — but, her scent had altered, subtly, and he knew what it meant. He just.. hadn't had the time nor peace to seek her out, or wonder what it meant, for him. That wasn't why they had... done... that... Some part of him had been hoping her body would not be so receptive, that something born in late summer would have low chances and that it was not worth the risk — but he was wrong. He just didn't know what to think about it, and, guiltily, he pressed his ears to his neck and closed his eyes for a moment. He had promised Leyra, but, he didn't know if he could do it.. especially not after this.

This wasn't, really, how it was meant to be.

Letting out a quiet sigh Mauja flicked his white tail. It was just to deal with it, and make the best of it. Time slowly wore on as he moved, a restless ghost, through the sheltered Basin, his hooves leaving a trail of quickly melting frost wherever he went. It was a calm night, beautiful, and, perhaps, it was the right night for this conversation to be had.. whatever it would be. He felt that he had no right to have opinions on it, as he was to blame, and it was not his body, and in all honesty, part of him was worried about this, what it would mean, to Psyche, the herd, Snö — he knew quite well how possessive his first daughter was of him. Clenching his teeth he finally spotted her, not too far from the pool where it all had happened, and he eased into a graceful trot, but couldn't help but throw a few glances at the surroundings.

Irma reassured him that they were alone, and Mauja tried to exhale some of the tension. "Hey," he called, gently, his lustrous glow fading the moment he stepped into the shadow of the sparse trees. She seemed exhausted, and he was not sure of what his reception would be. Would she scream at him? Maybe. Slowly he extended his neck, pushing his soft muzzle close to hers in greeting, wondering what the future had in store for them.

If only things could be easy every once in a while.. but they never were, were they? Things would always be complicated one way or another, no matter the situation and the circumstance. Nothing in life was ever simple. Things did not fall into place just because he wanted them to, and he'd be a fool if he thought — hoped — that this would be any different. She was not angry, at least not unless his eyes deceived him, but that would, perhaps, be the only good thing. He would not find peace, and he knew it. If he acknowledged it at is, what would happen to his relation to Psyche? And to Snö, the daughter he'd only recently reclaimed from a frosty distance not yet thawed? And if he didn't, would he be able to stand by the sidelines and watch Faelene raise it, and pretend his blue blood didn't run in its veins? What if it looked like him? Tamlin had, after all, been his beyond a doubt. What if Faelene didn't want him to have anything to do with the child, but it would be impossible to look at it and say "oh yea, that's not Mauja's"? He blinked in the darkness, breathing in the scent of her breath as she returned his greeting, dark muzzles touching in the shadows. She seemed to sense his hesitation, his uncertainty, for it was she who spoke next, and he felt his heart constrict for a moment. Perhaps this.. mess wasn't what either of them had planned, but if she did not outright regret it... He lowered his head a fraction, black-rimmed ears falling back in a display of relief as his eyes half closed. No apologizes, then, and somehow his breathing came easier knowing that she'd come to terms with what had happened.

After a moment he raised his head again and opened his eyes, knowing that it was the hardest part to settle that was coming. Still, he would not flinch away. He would not look aside, like a liar. Steadily he met her gaze, the blue of his seeming almost white in the darkness. Veils and shields headed off their depth, but that which lay close to the surface was sincere, even if it was mildly troubled. "I only want to know what you want." He felt something in his gut clench, another foolish hope laid to waste in his mind. How much easier wouldn't it have been to just do what she wanted him to do? To not make the choice himself? Could he even choose? Curse his heart, but in silence he listened as she went on, feeling the rock tied to his feet drag him deeper under the waves. Why did she have to be so rational and considerate? Why did she have to leave every door open? He said nothing, but did not look away either until she gave a quiet laugh and dropped her gaze. It startled him back into the present from his thoughtless, miserable reverie, and a small, humorless smile flitted across his face. "We belong only to ourselves," he agreed quietly, suddenly wondering if she'd seen that night as something more — as something not merely physical. Had she? In a sense, he had decided that they were friends, that he had no choice but to trust her, that she'd proved her loyalty and worth in the Edge battle and in the hardships since then.. that what they had shared had been a thing between adult friends, and nothing more.

Did it send a flutter, a spark, into her heart when she looked upon him? The notion almost frightened him, and for a long moment he remained silent, just looking at her. Did she.. no.. what.. surely not. She didn't seem the type to fall in love, and least of all with a creature of ice.. but then again, that night, he had been made of warmth, of flesh, like any other living man. He breathed in, deeply. Better hope that was not the case. It would be easier if such foolish things not got dragged into this along with everything else.

"I'd kind of been hoping you would've told me what to do," he finally said after a moment, a crooked sort of smile creeping onto his face. It was a confession, and a slightly embarrassing one despite its truth. It would've been a lot easier if he hadn't been given a choice what to do, as he hadn't given it much thought. Or, well, he had tried to think about it but just freaked out each time he did. "Because.. I am torn." He'd been prepared to say a million things, a million lies, but in the end, it was the naked truth that spilled from his lips and he looked away, into the darkness. He blinked, wishing he wasn't so pathetic about it. But.. he'd found some sort of common ground with Psyche, an amiable working relationship, and he'd be loath to sacrifice it, but was a child not reason enough to stand by the truth? And if not, then what was? And Snö — couldn't he just tell her to suck it up? But in all honesty, the thought of having to treat his eldest daughter that way made his heart constrict, and he closed his eyes. Perhaps, if he wasn't able to deal with the consequences, he should just not commit to things which could backfire. A small sigh left his mouth and his head drooped slightly, and into the darkness he spoke again. "So I must ask you the same thing.. what would you want me to do?" It was, after all, her child too.

Weakness. It had been the wrong thing to admit to, to admit that he was mortal, that he did not know, that his respect for her — and his uncertainty — was allowed to take hold. Weakness, to not know what course he wanted to set, to ask her what the tempest wanted, where the storm fled, without trying to steer it. Rooted up, snatched away, and he felt himself crumble as the night air grew frostier. Silver-black eyes grew distant, her voice a cold lash against his strained soul: nothing. He could feel her slip away, move away, even if her hooves remained rooted to the ground; slip away, and push him away, and he rocked back half a step. She had seemed so ready to speak, to have a dialogue, to settle this, yet now her voice was the frosted bite of someone scorned, or disappointed, or, or.. his mind find nothing to liken it to, and with pain in his blue gaze he felt the door close and the lights go out. Her voice didn't rise, but it was final, in a way, and part of him wished to spiral into the trap and disappear, to take that easy route out and just wallow alone in his misery instead of try to make a stand and salvage what he could.

He had always cared. Even if he hadn't meant it, he had cared — had trusted her, by showing his soul, his bones, his colors, the man behind the mask. He had trusted her, and it felt like she had trusted him, too, and he had cared.. he'd just not been smart enough. He'd been too stupid to break it off, but he kept caring, but she was slipping through his grasp and out into the cold night, and he wasn't sure if she wanted him to follow.

Whore.. bitch.

Oh, he could well hear Snö's contemptuous voice, the scorn in it if she knew it was her father, Mauja, who had sired yet another child.. he could imagine her cold ire, the possessive jealousy, the haughty dismissal, and how the schemes would unfold in her mind. Snö was, in so many ways, her parents' daughter, whether she wanted to, or saw it, or not. "If anyone is the whore, it is I," he said with bitter regret even as she moved away a step, not knowing if she would understand it for what it was, or if she'd only see it as an attempt to garner pity — but it wasn't, it was the truth, and her words left him cold, and alone, as if it wasn't she who had disappeared into the night and left him behind, but the other way around. "No, Faelene, wait!" he called, even as her figure flickered out of life. Frosted hooves shuffled over the ground, his eyes straining in the darkness but seeing nothing, and he didn't have the heart to scatter ice just to pinpoint her location. Was she even here still, or was she running away? Did it mute sound, too? Tentatively he reached out, but found only air.

"Don't go," he called into the darkness, his gaze roving the trees frantically as he spun in a circle, wondering if she'd cast a shadow in the moonlight, or if she was well and truly gone. "I just — I just feel like what you want matters more than what I want.. I just..." Talking to the shadows, talking to a dream; his head was raised gracelessly, the long tendrils of his white mane falling like wisps against his neck. Black-rimmed ears fell back in defeat, sorrow lining his eyes as he swept the place where she had stood once more. Gone was the regal monarch, gone was the honest man, left was the broken, the confused, the slightly boyish look upon his face that only a few brought out in him. "I never wanted you to leave," he whispered to the darkness, knowing that if she wanted to elude him, she could, and he was chanceless.

It seemed that she lingered, unable to truly cut the conversation off; she could've just moved away, not listened to his words, his feeble explanations of confusion.. was it weakness, or strength, or..? Why did she linger, her voice coming out of a body he could not see, eyes he could not read; did she want him to say something that made sense, something that wasn't just tangled up in anxiety and uncertainty? He could feel his breath rise into the night, something hollow in his chest, yet it felt like snakes were nesting in his belly — how could he have messed this up, made it all go so wrong? What had he even wanted? He'd spent the days trying to not get attached to whatever grew within her, had spent so much time trying not to know what he wanted, for fear that she'd tell him to stay away, or that she'd be angry.. he'd never truly explored his options, because he did not want to hope, only to have it dashed. But, everything had shattered anyway, like glass dropped on cold rocks, and if he looked, would he see the possibilities wink out one by one in the fragments?

He didn't even bother looking for her, did not seek to pinpoint her body; she'd gone invisible for a reason, and he felt like he could respect that at least, even as her cool voice cut into his ears. Briefly, he even closed his eyes, imagining the silver flecks in hers turning cold. She wanted help. But what help could he possibly give, except ask her what she had wanted him to do? Wouldn't doing that be helping her the most? His jaws tensed, but he did not speak, did not move until she spoke up again; his eyes flew open, and for a moment he cast around, looking for her. "No!" he said, somewhat horrified, to the bodiless darkness. But at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder — had she? Or was it the play of light and shadows, the tug of mischief and the quiet laughter, the cold and the warmth..? What had he even wanted, on that night? What had it been, except an exploration of touch, of giving and taking? Again, he closed his eyes for a moment. It was true, that he would rather it had been just an act, no consequences, but — he should've thought of that, then, and not lived on false hope and regrets later.

"Look, Faelene.. No matter what, no matter how, I will love this child — there is no other way." His eyes had opened again, and he blinked in the shadows. Tamlin's conception, and upbringing, had been, if possible, worse than this, with Lotus whispering little croons and songs in his ears and filling it with foolish ideas of princes and power. He had been conceived by ambition and magic. "I know that... There is nothing, nothing, which can make me regret a child. It's just.. not a possibility. It's a concept which doesn't exist in me." Was she still listening, still there, even? He'd never spoken about his love for his children before, and wondered if it even mattered. "Not even the dread of what Lotus would try to raise Tamlin into stopped me from loving him from the moment I saw him.." His ears fell back. And then I lost him. Was it a recurring theme, his family abandoning him? Was it something within him, that drove others away? Like it had just now?

"I'm starting to think I am a truly horrible creature, for managing to always drive my family away at one point or another," he murmured, mostly to himself, feeling the cracks in his heart widen.

Was she still there? Still listening, to his jumbled explanation? Or was he only talking to the darkness? Bitter murmurs faded to silence, and in the shadows, there was nothing to respond to him. Perhaps she had finally had enough of his shifting thoughts, and slipped away before he found the verbal ropes to bind her with. Perhaps she wanted to slip away, to drive it home that he'd handled this tactlessly. Swallowing the rising tide of emotions he fought the urge to look for her, and the telltale puff of her breath. It would be so comforting — so damning — to know she was still there, that he wasn't just talking to the quiet trees, but if he looked and didn't find her.. the thought of it threatened to swallow his mind whole.

Then suddenly the ground shifted. He hadn't realized how he'd been straining for a sound, but now that he heard how the grass whispered as her hooves touched it he realized how he'd held his breath, just waiting for some sign of life. Feeling each pound of his heart reverberate through his body he waited, listened as she came closer, and then he felt her. The cold air grew slightly warmer, and then her soft muzzle pushed against his. He hadn't expected a touch; his head jerked up a fraction, one ear flickering, then he snorted quietly and sought for her again, closing his eyes as her voice washed over him. The grief. A humorless smile tugged at his lips. He caused it all by himself, with his mind spinning out of control, and he fought down the urge to, bitterly, ask why they all left him if he didn't drive them away. The thing they all had in common was their relation to him.

Her red mane shifted against his face, and his eyes fluttered open, then widened. She had returned. No longer was it just his mind filling in the contour of her body, but she was there, a clear, defined line between the edge of her back and the shadows beyond. For a moment he sought her gaze, but then she spoke of Tamlin and he winced. Ears falling back he averted his eyes, imagining the colt alone, somewhere out in the world — searching for his stupid father who walked into a time-portal and got lost. Never mind that it hadn't been his choice, but Tamlin was young and horribly naive in many ways.. what if he died out there? Somehow, he thought that Faelene would not find his self-blaming flattering, and he kept his mouth shut, listening, hoping that wherever the blood-prince boy of his was he was alive, and warm, and well.

"It is a strong bond," he admitted quietly. "Call me a fool, but I was worried you'd be angry with me, and want me to have nothing to do with the-" He paused, frowned, and corrected himself. "-our child, and.. if you would've.. it would've been easier if I steeled myself for it," he finished lamely, before giving his snowy shoulders and head a quick shake. He turned his head back around, to her, and then glanced down the length of her body, trying to see the contour of her barrel. Suddenly, he found himself deathly curious of what lurked in her womb. It was not the excitement he'd felt about Snö, nor the quiet anxiety of Lotus giving birth to some demon spawn (fortunately, she hadn't), but just simple, intense curiosity.

And so, it seemed that whatever had bothered them, and pulled them apart, faded. While he let the words pour out, to explain himself, she stayed put, listening; he appreciated it. It would've been so easy for her to just disappear again and run away, away from his explanations and reasoning, but she didn't. She stayed near him, and he thought that she was listening, for even as his voice grew silent she did not speak, merely looked thoughtful. Mauja's ears fell back slightly. While it had felt good to get these words out, and off his chest, he was still anxious, worried — not just of losing the chance of truly knowing one of his own brood, but worried of driving Faelene away, too.. ruining what they had, whatever it was, that sliver of friendship. As one who wore masks so often he knew how much it took to let the mask slip, and now that he had begun to catch glimpses of others around him, and their true selves, he was loath to lose it.. because he knew what lay beneath.

"Ah," she finally said, and he felt himself relax even more, exhaling deeply. It sounded like.. like she'd understood, processed it, and come to realize that he was neither cruel nor indifferent. What would happen in the future was still unknown, though, but knowing that she, in some way, understood would make it easier to make it through the days. A small, hesitant smile unfolded on his face; it almost faded when she said she might've done the same thing, but then grew stronger as she gave him a faint one in return. It felt better, like healing, even if they had a ways to go still.

She seemed tired, though, drawing away with an open query. "Wouldn't we'd call it a night?" he said with a brief grin, motioning to the dark shadows all around them. Much as he wanted to tell her to go and catch some rest, he found himself frowning, searching for his voice and the words. "Just.. one more. Psyche. Know that I have every intention of being in the child's, and.. your, life, I think it is best I talk to Psyche before I'm, err, seen with you. I think she'd take it worse if she found out by rumor — and if she gets angry, she can take it out on me when I tell her." He gave a small shrug, trying to gauge her reaction.. afraid she'd think him a coward, but at the same time, having Psyche on their side — or at least not spitting mad about it — would make things a lot easier.

d'Artagnan would say his weakness was mares, something he'd obviously proven yet again, but Mauja himself would say it was his paranoia, the way his thoughts always churned, rolling down dark alleys and into the most dramatic, and depressing, corners. For as long as he could remember it had always been there, that vein of fear, the constant, niggling worry, a skip of his heart as he interpreted yet another thing in the worst possible way.. the strangling guilt of doubting his friends, those who had stood by him for so long. Trust did not come easily to him, and despite the antics of that day a few weeks ago he still carried the echo of the feeling with him.. a sense of safety in the Doctor's company even as he walked willingly into his lair, blindly ate what was offered while knowing a bite of the wrong thing could stop his heart in a minute. That faith, unquestioned, was either madness or something built by years — an welcome with open arms even as he came home tattered and broken. Only time would teach him that Faelene would not leave. In the past he used to think that only upon their death could he know if they would ever leave him, but recently he'd begun to think that maybe he should let himself pass judgment sooner.

It was, after all, hard to say look, I think you might've been one of my closest allies to someone when they were already dead. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with a faint smile at the sound of her amusement, but it faded as he had to turn the talk to Psyche. Again, she seemed thoughtful, and he appreciated it. She wasn't someone with air between her ears, nor had she closed her mind off and decided for him who he was and what he did — no, she had listened to him, picked apart his thoughts to find her own truth in them. As her gaze dropped his ears fell back hesitantly; had he misstepped again? Would such a caution lower her faith in him..? Was it wrong of him? But, no — he had assured her, hadn't he? Just that it would be easier with Psyche on their side?

"Well, I would appreciate that. I think the two of us just started to understand and trust each other and I don't want to see that all go to hell.."

Perhaps there was another black mare in this Basin whom he'd been wrong about, too.. a carnivore, a jackal, her heart cold as ice and black with frostbite — or was it? Mauja remained silent, remembering the slide as a mask fell off her face when he'd just come back, the way her amber eyes had seemed different.. less predatory. He'd stood weak before her, with his throat bared, an easy kill, but she had not laughed at him. She hadn't even put him beneath her feet, to declare herself supreme and better than him. She had just offered some sort of quiet assurance, and Mauja gave a low hum, before shaking his head. These thoughts were for some other night. Faelene was tired and he was guilty of keeping her up with his stupidity and caution, and he did not really feel comfortable to spill his guts to anyone. d'Artagnan was one thing, and good as Faelene was, he just.. didn't want to. Instead, he forced it aside and gave her a small smile. "It'll work out somehow," he said, and despite his quiet voice there was something confident in it. Perhaps not foolishly confident, but he did not believe this would be the end of everything. "I won't keep you up longer now, Faelene." As an afterthought he added, in a whisper, "Thank you,".