How long had he been gone? The snows had not yet thawed and melted when he disappeared, at least not in the north; the nights had still been longer than the days. And if the lingering warmth in the air was something to go by, it was late summer now—half a year, then? So much had happened since then, to him, and to them. That much was obvious, given even—what world would pause and hold its breath just because one of its failed kings went away? He had known things would've changed, balances shifted. Surely some he knew had died. Kou's smile faded, and even in his state of disarray, Mauja's heart stumbled in his chest, a cold claw contracting around it; had something happened to d'Artagnan? Illogical fear clashed with the logic of Kou's earlier statement, until the words betrayed the truth: "The doctor does not live within the Basin any longer." He swallowed the question, silenced the why? and instead reached out to touch her cheek with his muzzle, terrifyingly aware of all the others watching.

It was nearly paralyzing; so much easier to pretend to be strong if he could stand still, mask everything with ice and iron certainty. It was worse than being a shadow in the Basin, as he had so long ago—it was like being afraid, of living, when the only thing that had changed was knowledge.

Gently, he blew hot air against her, before pulling back, soothed by the warmth of Sarazheha by his flank. To think that his brother had done so much lately: save him, spirit him away, coax him into becoming a leader, and finally, break him all the way down with a gentle, yet firm, suggestion—or order, if you wished. I've fallen, brother, but I cannot wait for someone else to pick me up.

And so, he kept pretending that things were normal, even as his soul lay on its side and stared at a raging sky.

Kou's whispered voice mirrored his own sentiments, and as his sharp eyes remained on Torleik he inclined his head, to show that he'd heard. It was obviously something she'd not wished to say out loud, and he remembered enough of the game to not give her away; instead, he added another name to a face, storing it somewhere in the back of his mind, and tried to force his spirit to calm. The thick stallion seemed to be one of the Basin herd, then, and maybe it should've soothed him, but it didn't. He wasn't sure what the Basin was anymore, or what he was, and maybe finding himself would be easier if he wasn't around those who expected certain.. things, from him.

Perhaps there were different kinds of strengths.

"Mauja was our king." There it was, that small word: was. He'd been their King not only once, but twice, and let them down both times: disappeared, in a flurry of snow or wind, leaving no trace. No farewells, no explanations. The set of his jaws grew a fraction firmer. No King ought to leave their people. He felt like he'd failed everyone, let everyone down, and truly, was no closer to his redemption than he'd ever been. "A pleasure meeting you, Torleik," he simply said, suddenly finding a part of himself again—he was no King, but his body remembered. Something loosened in his stance, the set of his withers grew less jagged, and his ears flickered forward, eyes bright, alert; inviting, somehow so open of face while giving nothing away, not truly.. always these bits and pieces of a past monarch flickering into life, but not quite touching the heart anymore. "Will you come back to the Basin?"

And there it was, the point upon which everything turned. The question he hadn't decided an answer for, the choice in which he did not know what to do, which path to walk down, and which to abandon. Slowly, he turned his head around to face Frost Fyre, and was surprised to feel Sarazheha's cheek press against his barrel. Irma's talons squeezed the black stallion's withers, her impassive eyes upon the youngest mare, and if he could, he would've stopped time. What do you say, when you don't know? When you want to keep wearing that mask, to pretend you're not on your knees? To, somehow, convince them all you're still strong, still so certain, when in reality you feel like you don't know anything at all anymore? He hesitated a moment, a span of silence counted down by the thunder of his heart—he felt like a deer in the headlights, trapped between hungry wolves. His silence stretched, a second longer, he had to say something before his silence gave it all away.

"No," he finally said, heaving a sigh that seemed infinitely small in comparison to everything he held back within. "Not right away, at least. There are.. other things I have to take care of, first."

And thus, he had made a choice, taken the first step down an unknown path. Somehow, he found himself thinking Sarazheha would be proud, if he only knew what had been said.

[ Mauja is...being more silly than he should. I'm sorry this is rambly and ugly we're trying to figure out things again. :x ]