A moment before he spoke her eyes closed, dark lids shutting out the faint gleam and sparkle of her gaze. Left alone with the darkness he found himself missing it. Even though she was there, within reach of a touch, he felt lonely, as if his company had walked away and left him outside. She's just thinking he told himself, but it did not ease the feeling. Strange, how eyes could draw you in and shut you out in equal measures.

His voice drew her attention, though, her black ears sweeping forward to catch his quiet voice, and he was rewarded with seeing her eyes flicker back into life. With a sincere curiosity he had not felt in a long time he watched her, his own eyes perking forward and a small smile answering hers. Since his return he had had a hard time managing the thoughts and problems of others, always wanting to run away, not listen, shut them out; he could not make sense of their woes when he couldn't even make sense of his own, but something in the air — the minerals from the springs? — had him calmer, somewhat relaxed once the shock had worn off. He found himself genuinely interested in what was on her mind, what weighed heavy on her thoughts to give rise to the thoughtful way she had watched him. And he found that he could listen, attentively, drink in what she said without breaking his mind in half, one for himself and one for the other, a forced relationship to comprehend and act; no, he could listen, and think, but as a whole. Something about the experience, nothing but a small, simple act, was freeing for his troubled spirit, like seeing the first signs of flesh purging and infected wound and starting to close.

Her thoughts ran deeper than he had expected, perhaps because his own had not reached beyond the simple moment of what they'd been doing — surprising, flinching, smarting. She spoke calmly, if quietly, seldom stopping to think, to fumble over words and find the correct way to put it. It gave him the idea she'd thought about this particular thing before. Briefly Mauja took his eyes off her, to gaze into the Basin beyond them; it was calm and quiet, no one stirring to their hushed conversation in its corner. It was so tranquil. Blue eyes shifted back, to hers, reading her more serious expression.

Mulling over her words, Mauja allowed the heavy silence to claim them again, though for his part it was not awkward, merely thoughtful. She seemed to fade a little, as if withdrawing into herself once her words were spent — idly his gaze trailed across her body, drawn to her hooves as she stomped one of them, and then back to her lowered face. Her eyes were veiled by her lashes from this angle. "I think," he began after a moment, less sure of his words than she had been. "That we can never, truly, know anyone.. not even ourselves. Something will always happen that we could not predict, reactions in ourselves, thoughts, desires..." In a sense, he had learned this the hard way the past few weeks, trapped in a world where he did not belong. Guilt, shame, love, frustration, hope, desperation, anger, sorrow, hate, fury, despair. So many states of mind he had never known he could truly feel in his heart and soul.

"Sometimes I think that we can only know ourselves through others, that we can only see what we are reflected in the eyes of another. Our thoughts and deeds, and how they weigh them." His eyes roamed up to the stars. "Nor do I think we can ever truly know another. The words they speak might lie, the ideas they express nothing but fancies or schemes — morals can crumble under power, courage in the face of danger. Who they claim to be, might not be who they are, and we might be fooled until the point where they break, and then we wonder, did I ever know you at all?. It's a depressing thought, really, and in a way it's the same with ourselves. If I lie to every horse I meet, will the picture they paint of me be me?" Mauja was one who often let his eyes and mouth speak words he did not really mean, and one who always doubted the sincerity of others. Only upon their deaths could he render judgment of their lives.

"I think we change a little, depending on who we are with, and that only time can teach us to know another." The last he said quietly, bringing his eyes down from the heavens to fall upon her. He had not given her answers, had he? Only more thoughts, fuel for her fire. Slowly his lips curved into a small, apologetic smile, something vaguely self-conscious about it. I'm sorry I could not give you an answer.

Mauja Frosthjärta