He never deserved any of it—the fierce loyalty of the Plague, Ophelia's affections, nor the forgiveness of strangers. They were so beautiful in their warm hearts, awe-inspiring and frightening in the goodness of their minds; their ability to forgive, and forget, his dark sides... For what he'd nearly done to her, he did not deserve her forgiveness, her trust as she let herself lay upon the warm earth of the Heartlands.

Or perhaps that was just his evil, downward spiral of bitterness and self-doubt. Perhaps he did deserve it, because he hadn't done it—because he'd held back, to the point where he couldn't have triggered it even if he wanted to. Maybe he was a villain only because he thought he was, when all the crimes he'd committed as of late were accidents or mere mind-crimes, thoughts of all the things he'd like to do to some of Helovia's inhabitants... Revenge was a sweet poison, and one he seemed to gulp down like water after a long, hot day. Because truly, it was the only thing he had left, the only thing he had to cling to in the spinning darkness of his mind. It was the only purpose, the only cause, the only direction on his seriously fucked-up compass.

Pain and healing were claiming its dues. Eyelids fluttered in the hazy, moving orange light, dark brown depths growing dimmer as her head sagged; there was that twitch of wanting to stay awake, but of not being strong enough. Mauja took his eyes off her, raised them to the night. For now, they were alone. Only the wind stirred the long, dry autumn grasses, and the only shape the stars had for company was Irma, returning from her earlier hunt. “Home’s such a strange concept isn’t it? I didn’t like my first, it was more of a prison really. Better off to have no home like you than one like that.” Sleep had marked her, branded her and was dragging her down. The filters of the mind thinned, tongue waggling freely to the train of thought—another small smile curved his dark lips, and he glanced down at her. Once, many many years ago, Mauja had liked his old home. He'd had a future. And once, here in Helovia, he'd been content in his cliffside forest, king of the mists, wary and cantankerous like an old guard dog.

But that was a long time ago now.

In silence he watched her succumb to sleep. The lines etched on her face smoothed out, eyes closing. Despite the season, the ground this close to the Heart was warm from within, a good enough bed to sleep on. He shifted his weight, frosted hooves scraping softly over the dry terrain. Did she expect him to leave? Or maybe the idea of what he would do had not crossed her mind. Mauja tilted his head slightly to the side as he peered into the deepening darkness. He couldn't exactly leave her lying here for the crows and wolves to feast upon. He flicked his tail, and sighed quietly as Irma did another round in the quiet sky.

"Sleep well, little friend," he finally said after a long while, when he was sure she'd fallen into the depths of sleep. Mauja cocked one hip, and settled in for a night of vigil-keeping.

[ ending it here is fine with me! :) ]