There were some parts of Helovia he'd avoided since his return. Some he avoided on purpose (the north, the place where his heart lay buried, and he was too afraid to go find it), and some he avoided by accident—or, rather, some he simply hadn't meandered into. In all his time in Helovia the deep, dark forest of the southeast had never been one of his regular haunts. He'd been in a few times, and two stuck out more than the others: the time he'd been chasing Kou down, and the time the giant wolf-thing had knocked him over. All things considered, it had ended well, but there he was again, walking between the old, wounded trunks, contemplating life and death and mystery. The glow of his blaze cast a pale, sickly light on the things he came close to, and beneath his thick forelock blue eyes swept steadily, warily. He'd been taken unawares once before, and this was the place where it was the most likely to happen again. The thick, tangled undergrowth and bushes saw to that.

The world held its breath. No birds sang. It was as if it was simply waiting for the jaws to close over his jugular, and for the hot blood to rush out—black-rimmed ears pinned themselves against his thick neck. He would not be a victim here, not today, and with confidence, defiance even, in his steps he strode on. No matter how tarnished the mind, Mauja's body always remembered its bloodlines. He was a graceful ghost, a knight from some faraway court, but his mind was too busy worrying about giant wolves to notice, or to spend much time thinking about anything else.

Irma's talons squeezed his withers comfortingly, and he kept going, plowing deeper into darkness and myth. For once it matched his inner journey, going deeper into the tangled trees and wondering which paths that led out, back to the light—and which just led deeper into despair. He knew that this forest had a heart (just like you do) and he'd been there, once, but did he know the way? To either? His frosted hooves spent less time on the ground, coming down with urgency and leaving for another step, but still he did not run. Head high, swinging from side to side, Mauja stared into the vast depths of the forest, his nose twitching for any scent of the red water, where is it? It suddenly seemed so important to find it, to reclaim some insignificant piece of his past, but he couldn't have said why.

And just as he was starting to suspect that he'd not find it, he stumbled upon it, as you always did with things you were looking for. Abruptly he came out of the thick forest to grind to a halt; the clearing spread out before him with the mighty fir at its center, and the blood-red pool so calm and still beneath it.

But he wasn't alone.