This elder unicorn; who bore such resemblance to my fair lady--wasn’t someone I planned on ever crossing, ‘at least not in a bad way.’ In those bright blood pools sparked an understanding and intelligence that came from having lived a long and full life. Any show of disrespect would be a dishonor to my family name in the presence of this mighty warlord. Very few warriors actually made it to be called, ‘elder.’ I had seen only a hoof-full, and only in the largest of clans.

He answers my statement readily, and openly. I’m grateful for his, ‘to the point,’ nature. No tricks, no traps. I listen keenly, my eyes only falling from his gaze when I realized just how pitiful my musings over the battle had been. They had called us on the eve of expecting more fighters to actually fight, it was strategy to bulk their numbers and ensure victory. Of course…. Softly I reply, “Aye Sir.” It was hard not to feel wet behind the ears when standing in the presence of two battle hardened men. Their ways of war were still being learned, hard learned now that I had no mentor to train with. Without realizing it at first, my shoulders sagged, heavy with weighted thoughts. I relied on Sultana’s to fill in the gap of missing knowledge only brought about by youth- but more often than not they were busy with herd matters, and I with training Soldiers.

There is a return of my greeting, and then a question. The father inquired as to how I knew his daughters—slowly I lift my eyes to stare into his wise gaze, “They both lived in my homeland for a time—I knew them as my clan-sisters.“ They are my family. I wanted to say more, talk to him, and ask his permission to actually court Ktulu as my father had taught me to do. Yet…it felt awkward to express certain matters with the Ice King so close.

I sealed my tongue, the time would come as all things did for matters of the heart and proper eloquence. There would be water if the Lord willed it so. During the next few moments I merely listen to the two elder stallions discuss Paladin’s alabaster daughter, ‘Ophelia.’ Quietly I steal a glance across to Mauja, his gaze is chilling to look at—though I do not find reason to flinch away. They are particular to that of another unicorn, Apollo, yet it held not the gentle kindness of my healing friend. No. Those eyes bore something different, yet, perhaps not something wholly bad. I had seen his touch grow gentle, and posture soften—when helping others.

Where we really different?

“As you both know, I am Mauja.”

It was the first I had heard his name given life from those pale lips. Almost instantly I can feel one corner of my lip flick up, and the endless gold of my eyes soften just a little.