He wasn't sure what it was that he had intruded upon, what it was that he had found, but the notion that they would be spies left him almost entirely — almost, for in nature, Mauja was deeply distrusting, always keeping the option that someone was about to get him open in the back of his head. It would not do to feel surprise, or pain, the day a dagger slid into the flesh of his back.

Despite his cautious approach, the softness of each step and the way he looked at them as if to say I bring no harm, they reacted by being vaguely defensive: the thin filly backed up in what seemed to be fear, the whites of her eyes visible and her ears slick to her neck. Firmly, yet slowly, the palomino mare stepped in in front of her, shielding much of the bony youngster from sight, but he could easily see her sticking out here and there like a dark lining, her head raised and almost glaring at him. He resisted the urge to arch an eyebrow at her display, and instead swept his cold-colored gaze to the older of the pair. She kept her hazel eyes downcast, but when his soft voice touched her, a change swept across her face — for half a heartbeat something in his eyes grew sharp, worried almost, but it passed quickly and left no trace. She looked very sad, and that was the only explanation he found for it, and it surprised him that he felt a stab of pity for her. Her explanation, however, did not surprise him, only the fact that she included him, indirectly, among their masters.

She claimed to belong to Faelene, and he let out a slow, thoughtful breath, not sure what to think. The dark Thief didn't strike him as the type of cavort around with a harem of slaves, but perhaps she had some ulterior motive? But what? Slowly, his eyes slid from her rather well-kept self to the thinner, more ragged-looking girl hiding behind her, and the veil of obvious distrust in her black, dull gaze. Who was her master? Surely someone with less patience and understanding, if her appearance was anything to go by. And, while it did please him, in some backwards way, that the Basin was successful enough to take slaves, it also worried him, and worried him greatly. Where did they come from, originally? If they were ever found — what would the retribution be? War? Would it come to the unveiling of the Plague, open hostilities, a conflict they were not yet ready for? With a sinking feeling of dread he realized that he would worry, endlessly, if they ever left the Basin with their lives intact.

But he couldn't tell them that — that he'd rather see the shyly smiling mare with her kind, yet wary, eyes dead than free.

"I see," he said quietly, with little inflection in his voice, for he did not know what was appropriate. The slightest of frowns creased his features, as part of him longed to return the gesture of a smile, and another part of him wondered what the hell he, the Bane, was supposed to do when confronted with slaves. As loathsome a concept he found it, he could neither release them nor try to keep them for himself, and with a silent sigh he took a step slightly forward and to the side, sweeping his crystal gaze onto the mountains surrounding them. Snow-capped, dark and formidable they guarded his home, their fortress, against the eyes who could see these two who did not belong here. Were they safe? The Basin was, perhaps, safe from others, but the Basin was not a safe place for them.

"Who does your friend.. serve?" he asked with quiet regret, something sad tinging his features as he thought, sought a path to deal with it, as the conflict raged beneath his skin. They would need to be kept — but he would not want to inflict upon them more harm than they were surely to come to anyway.