Striking mights and maybes even more

A useless thing called life

It's a biting cold again

It had been a very - interesting - experience, not only the healing itself but everything that had transpired in that cave. Finding out that Ophelia had a dragon, and that Irma was pretty much a loner, had only been minor revelations in comparison to everything else. The healer mare, Tor, had treated him as if he was some feral beast about to eat her the moment she turned her back, and again he was reminded, bitterly, of how deeply rooted Helovia's racist stamp on him was. It didn't matter that none of his herd had really done anything bad, except nearly kill Ophelia - they were still branded as enemies, not be trusted, vipers in a nest of birds. It was annoying, though he kept trying to remedy it. It was slow work, though, and the Qian's invasion had put most of his plans on hold. And if he fought to reclaim his home - well, everyone would just attribute it to racism, and there we go, back to square one. Mauja heaved a thoughtful sigh, tail slapping idly against his hocks, as he paced in silence beside the sturdy draft mare. Despite all her thinly veiled barbs at his supposed racism, she was likeable, and had made it onto his "tolerated and maybe even enjoyed hornless" list, sitting there snugly with Indy and Onni. Azzuen had fallen off it when he showed up to take their home from them.

Pale sunlight filtered down on their white world, pushing scarce, fragile warmth into his skin - warmth easily ripped away by the more bitter wind. He'd take a hairless patch over infection any day, but when living in a world of winter, he preferred to have neither. Things seldom went the way you wished, though, and Mauja had learned to just roll with it a long time ago. Suddenly their dreamy, quiet reverie was broken as Tor swung her large head around to peer at him. The focus of his own eyes sharpened as he looked at her, walking comfortably by her side, a step or so out and slightly behind. It was up to her where she wanted to put her medic station. "Of course," he agreed, voice smooth, masking every trace of mild irritation. Did she think him stupid, that he'd forgotten that she'd already told him that? Or that he did not know how to prioritize? He didn't play favorites with his herd. Mauja breathed in deep, lungs swelling with the cold, crisp air. It tasted of life. He expelled it in a powerful cry, thundering out like an avalanche across the Frostbreath, asking those in need of healing to assemble. "It might take a while for all to come. For some, walking is not easy," he said quietly, thinking of Faelene's jagged, twisted jog as she sought to avoid what pain she could.