en natt så kall och månen den var klar

[ Who will ever know what Mau is intending... xD ]

Sometimes, he's not at all sure what he's doing.

He didn't know what had possessed him, what had made him put one hoof in front of the other and bridge the distance between them, reach out and touch the neck of some young girl who had, not even a year past, made moves against him. If he stopped to question his motives, he probably meant well—to show her that she was real, and that while he couldn't possibly claim to see her (because she was dancing around like the flicker of flames, hiding behind a veil of smoke, not letting him see) he could touch her.. anchor her in reality.

Her neck was warm under his touch—the golden dapples didn't feel like scars under his sensitive nose, the skin as smooth and the hairs as velvet as the rest of her. He breathed in her scent for a moment, unsurprised by its blend. The smell of the Edge was still strong in his memory, hairline cracks appearing in his heart as it he felt it embedded deeply into her skin. Ironic, that as time ever moved forward, Mauja strove backwards, to an era gone by, wishing only to return to it and stop time, seal himself into it, and disappear. Let the world remember a mighty, ambitious King, radiant with the light striking his pale coat, rising slowly with the sun into the dawn of something new: let them remember that, and not all that came after.

"Mauja..."

What was he doing? His black nose still pressed against her neck, his heart slowly doing its regular rounds; one black-rimmed ear twitched, playing with the fancy that if he listened hard enough he could hear her pulse.. would it be thundering, given hope by his thoughtless action? Had his touch slowly ignited the fires he'd done his best to put out? Guilt pricked him. He hadn't thought of all the things it might mean to her, not until it was too late, as usual.. nothing he did ever came out right, did it?

But one thing was clear: she needed this. And whether she needed it because it was so long since anyone had shown her some sort of kindness, or because she wanted more, he didn't know, but he didn't find it in him to pull back and leave her alone in the cold darkness anymore. The least he could do was to keep his own head cool, and discourage her with his calm; worried, more than he wanted to, by what she might think he meant. Worried, that she might try to make him go somewhere he doesn't want to go.

(Worried, that he still won't be strong enough to say no.)

Her neck wove around the angle of their bodies, shifting his point of touch from muzzle to the flat of his cheek. Her warm breath contrasted with the chilly, damp night breeze, hesitantly beating against his neck each time her sides fell. It very nearly sent a chill down his spine, so reminiscent of that time with Faelene... That time, when he'd given in to the play of contrast between hot and cold, to the sound of her voice changing rhythm to his touch—entranced, by the moonlight along her slick, black sides. Subtly, he ground his teeth together, felt the tickling trail of her whiskers as her nose moved up, to rest against the top of his neck.

He let her. He didn't know why, but he let her touch him, let her come close, knowing that for every second he lingered it would hurt the more when he would, eventually, pull away.

Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål