"I don't think that's Irma's handy work..." Her words made him pause, a slight frown etching itself upon his face. Did his mind not go beyond shoulder area + pain, before thinking "Irma"? Without looking he twitched his skin in the area she'd pointed out, and, indeed it felt a bit painful. Similarly he tugged on the nerves by his hip, which also smarted a little, but it seemed the skin there hadn't been scratched open. A small, dumb little smile came over his face, and he turned to look where she'd indicated again. It was harder for him to tell in the murky light, but maybe that darker patch was a bit of blood. "I wonder how I'm still alive if I can't even keep track of where I get hurt," he said lightly, trying to make a joke of it, despite the fact that it troubled him. It was one thing when half of his back was burned off and every nerve tingled with the memory of fire — it was alright to not be hundred percent sure of where it hurt then. But this? He gave his head a small shake. If he wanted to survive, he'd best start paying attention to himself again.

The water level rose steadily as they moved deeper into the pool, bridging his chest, rising higher. With each small wave they created it lapped higher only to pull away, the inch or so of wet skin suddenly deathly cold when the wind found it. Mauja followed close after her, his long legs stretching for the first steps to catch up, but then his pace matched hers through the sluggish water, nearly nose-to-tail as he wondered in what we she was going to "clean it off". Or where. In the pool? On the bank? Up on the other side, where he wasn't sure if they could get up over the rim? He cast glances at it through the darkness, wondering if that was the mouth of a cave, or just the far wall cast in shadows?

She stopped once they were almost at the other side, and he managed to stall his own movements before walking into her. Breathing in the warm steam his gaze flicked back to her face when she spun to face him, taking in her smirk, the relative lightness of silver bits in her eyes. At her words a laugh rumbled in his chest, and dryly he replied: "I'm glad you won't drown me fully." He could imagine it wasn't a pleasant sensation, lungs filling with water, the panic as breath abandoned you.. the shudder of your own heart in the liquid dark. Snorting, he tried to force the image from his head, to not imagine the feeling of drowning in something more tangible than emotions.

Now what? he wondered for a moment. She had led him here, to a quiet corner with only the stars for witness, joked about death and for a moment it was as if they stood upon the verge of something.. some decision, something monumental. As if neither knew what to say or do, breaths hitching in throats. Then, with a soft smile he saw but briefly before her head was beside him she moved forward, touching his bloodied shoulder again. Slowly Mauja raised his head, peering up at the stars with blue-and-silver eyes. Her breath was hot against his skin, mingling with the water. He could feel the outline of her teeth as she pressed against the scratches, working the blood away and leaving wet patches for the wind to chill. It was a curious sensation, an odd mix of being warm and cold all at once, and as he gazed at the stars he wondered what he thought.. what he felt... For he wasn't quite sure himself. The gentle care, the soft touch, it felt good. Mauja had always been a "touchy" horse, often bumping muzzles and playfully crossing horns, touching shoulders, but more than a season had obliterated the memory of touch from his mind. To feel another, living horse, its warmth, its presence, solidity... He closed his eyes, set his mind adrift, and savored the sensation for a moment.

A small smile began to form upon his lips, and opening his eyes a fraction he let his head lower. Her teeth were working on something, massaging both skin and the flesh beneath, and without thinking about it he put his own muzzle against her withers. Wet stripes of red mane hung plastered against her neck, more on the other side than this, and the mineral smell mingled with her own. Gently he lipped at the crimson strands, but then he forsook the playfulness for something more serious. Carefully, so as to not inadvertently hurt her, his own teeth began to rub against her withers. If it felt good for him — perhaps it would for her, too.

Mauja Frosthjärta