Sunrise; sunset. The cycle repeated endlessly, as far as he knew, with only the odd disturbance throwing it off-kilter—like the rampage of an unknown force, the disappearance of Gods and the startling, uncomfortable reminder how dependent they were upon their deities. Mauja still didn't know what had caused it, or when they had returned, or why. He'd left in a too-long night, mere hours after the moon's first rise in a long time, and returned to a life which seemed to have returned to normal. Whatever "normal" went for around here, anyway.

Dawn had come and gone hours ago, the stark sunlight a throwback to summer's warmth, but the shadows were full of the autumn chill. He stuck to them, grateful for the respite from the heat. There was a lot of that to find here, anyway, with the willow trees so thick around the lake's edge. Their leaves were yellowing, but still provided ample cover from the harsh sun rays. He drifted through them, not out of restlessness, but rather out of a need for movement, to keep the gears of his mind turning by walking. He wasn't sure if he was going anywhere, or if he wanted to go anywhere. It seemed quite the nice thing, to just go where he happened to go, and see what it would bring. Hopefully, nothing bad, but maybe another piece to fit in the fragmented puzzle of himself. Things were slowly starting to make sense again, but he kept pending between wanting to just.. let go, start over, and finding some new cause to champion.

Truly, his allegiance was fleeting, if all he needed was a purpose, a dream to follow, some kind of ambition to fulfill his need to lead, guide, protect. Mauja had never been King for his own sake, for his own power; he'd been it for his people, trying to see to their needs, what lay in their best interest, guide them when they failed to see the bigger picture and shelter them when the world tried to come crashing in.

Ultimately, he'd failed that, too, but it was still there in his heart, a flame he couldn't put out. It flickered often these days, sometimes fading to an ember, but he wondered if it would ever burn out. Some parts of you you carried with you forever.

A scent hit his nose, and he frowned slightly as it matched something of his past. His mind spun through memories, coupling scents and faces and names, and eventually he realized he knew very well who it was: Arah. What was the white mare doing down here? Not that any of the herd hadn't wandered, but.. he never really expected to run across them where they usually weren't. As far as he recalled, she was a loyalist in the Basin, perhaps not racist, maybe not even aware of the Plague, but a stalwart defender of their mountain home. Odd, to find her here. He altered his course, heading towards her, and fought down his apprehension. Sooner or later rumor would travel, and they'd know he was back—better to face one of them now, than later, maybe get some news and information. Besides, she'd always been kind to him. Maybe she would understand.

Maybe she wouldn't.

He sighed, kept going until he spotted her pristine white through the patchwork of light-and-shadow. Her antlers glistened in the sunlight when struck, and with the vague worries of her reaction clouding his mind he failed to notice her growing sides.

"Arah," he called, gently, hoping to catch her attention without startling her.