"A fitting name." His quiet breath rose towards the ceiling, steam gently rising from his night-wet coat; his blue eyes tracked the small movements of hers. Maybe it was. Soft, like the snow—and for being a creature of the cold and dark, he was surprisingly soft. Slowly he let his eyes drift from her and back onto the wall, awe lighting the depths of his gaze.

Circuta danced one step away. He saw it from the corner of his eye, wondering if it was because of the heat—or because he had come too close? He was tempted to follow her, to slide a little closer, just to see if it'd be like poles repelling one another, or if she'd allow it. He paused on the brink of the movement, though, leaning forward but stalling at her smile, and at her voice. "It is a pleasure to meet you both." Strange, to hear such simple courtesy from the maw of a jaguar, a predator. She seemed too wild for such mundane politeness, even if it seemed oddly honest when coupled with the smile. Mauja's ears tilted forward, something sharpening in his gentle eyes. He found his voice amidst the heat and wonders, a rumble, a vibration through his bones. More awake, more alive. "The pleasure is mine."

But such things were fleeting, brief. Niceties seldom held enough interesting truth, was not nothing but a political game—maybe it was honest enough to say he was glad to have met the strange night-mare, but small talk held nothing but protective lies for him. He'd gain nothing by traveling down that path, least of all when there were other things to consider, and to learn about. Perhaps the most marvelous thing of all, was that Circuta actually had the answer. The still-sane part of Mauja's mind had expected an I don't know, the only sensible answer in this land of myth and dream. But the soft voice slipping into the heated vastness was not one of apology, but of explanation, and Mauja found himself taking that forgotten step forward, drawn in by the enchanting magic of her voice—and words. She spoke of things he knew nothing about, had never heard of or even contemplated. Ancients? Powerful old beings that were not Helovia's four canon gods? A Sanctuary?

Had they died down here, then? Turned to dust by the slow turning of time, as whatever besieged them had not relented—or maybe trapped them within their castle? The mystery had him by throat and hand, dragging and leading him along its fanciful, twisting ways.

His heart was pounding.

"I have never heard of Ancients before," he murmured, dancing slightly on the spot to survey the vast, fire-bathed cavern. Irma was an immovable, unhelpful rock upon his shoulder. If she knew anything of this, she did not share it, but the lack of smugness made him think she truly didn't know. "I wonder who they were.. and what happened to them, in this place." The very walls seemed to echo with their contained mysteries, thrumming and singing now that his curiosity had been awakened. In places they darkened to tunnels, paths leading away from the throbbing heart-blood and its golden sheen. He spun once, before frowning into the distance. Curiosity killed the cat, and if Circuta was honest enough, she, too, was curious. To the point of daring to get her nose bitten?

"Come on," he breathed, feeling more alive than he had in a long time. "Let's go see what we can find?" And he moved lightly on the spot, waiting for her body to slide into action, confirmation that she wanted to come along on his adventure—that she wanted to wander into the dark with him.