i am the vanguard of your destruction

I don't want to wait anymore, I'm tired of looking for answers
Take me some place where there's music and there's laughter
I don't know if I'm scared of dying but I'm scared of living too fast, too slow

It had been so long ago—so very, very long ago.

He had known these slopes intimately, every nook and cranny, every path, tree, and rock. The land had whispered up through his hooves, through his legs, to his heart; it had wrapped itself around him, whispered in his ears and sighed through his veins. It had welcomed him, cherished him, and known him. Now, as he ascended towards its forests, it hushed and sang around him, curious, beckoning, wondering who this heavy-hearted stranger was.. and maybe, somewhere, dimly remembering the rhythm of his pace, and the cold touch of his frozen feet; but he was a stranger nonetheless.

Since that time so long ago he had not set foot upon the whitewashed slopes of the Edge. Since that time so long ago he had never walked among its trees, or felt the playful swirl of its mists around his legs, or seen the magnificent view over the ocean, the sun sparkling upon its wavy crests...

Three years. Back when he first came here to be crowned its King, three years was about half of the time he'd already lived; he'd barely been seven when he lost it. Now, he was approaching ten. It felt odd.

Mauja's slow climb paused, white neck turning to face back the way he had come. It was a lonely, winding path, scaling the cliff-face with the night-dark ocean at his back and stars wheeling overhead on a pitch black sky. In just an hour or so it would lighten, but for now, it was just him and the night. Him, halfway between heaven and earth, and the night all around. A slight smile curled the corner of his mouth upwards, and gliding on lonely wings the owls watched his progress. Nothing else stirred—no bird flew with those predators a-wing.

Three years. And now the circle was fulfilling, finally closing, and perhaps his aching heart would know some rest.

He moved again, lifted one hoof to put it down higher, hindquarters bunching as he kept on climbing. It was a long way down, but he had no fear of falling. Not anymore. He'd come to make his peace, and he would never be more ready—and yet, he couldn't shake the feeling of not being ready enough. There were so many things left unsaid, undone, if, if, if... if. All that stood between him and the blind wrath of the Qian was Kahlua, a girl of sunshine and flowers, and much as he hated to doubt her he didn't know if she was as fragile as the latter, or as fierce and burning as the former.

But it was too late now. He couldn't turn back, because then he would never come, and the further he climbed, the louder the Edge sang to him, with its pine-needle voice. Even now it smelled so familiar, enough to make his heart ache, and his mind race back to glorious times—times of hope, no matter how dark a hope, times of success, of.. of being more than just a vagrant. Times, when he'd not been disappointed in himself whatever he'd done, when life had been vibrant, full of taste and sound and something akin to joy. And it was easy to remember: to remember the control, the games, the mask he wore so well it might as well have been welded to his skin.

He missed that mask. He missed the calm and the composure, the patience, the confidence to toy with others and still be sure he'd come out on top.

He missed being Mauja—whatever the hell that meant.

The first tentative rays of sunlight arced over the horizon, skimming the white cliffs, touching his pale frame with uncertain hands, for who was this stranger staring at the brilliant refraction of a shattered glass wall—from within? Who was this stranger, a shadow of the moon standing in the break of dawn?

Pastel colors lined the blue, heralded the early sun, and Mauja blinked back the moisture from his eyes. He'd forgotten how beautiful the Edge was, with the thick fog curling around his legs, and the first morning rays sparkling in every single drop of dew. No matter where he had roamed, no matter how snowy the Basin and how snowy his past—this was home.

Irma came down through the trees to settle upon his withers. She'd only been an egg when it was lost; Diego came shortly thereafter, settling further back along his spine.

Home, with the earth thrumming beneath his hooves and the familiar, comforting weight of owls upon his back.

Home.. where he surely was not welcomed by any but Kahlua—and if he were to survive 'til nightfall, she needed to be his sun-spear, his shield, his defender. He drew in the cold, clear air; here, so close to the cliff's edge, it smelled strongly of the ocean, but mixed up with everything else that made the Edge the Edge.

Mauja turned his head back, to peer again at the shattered glass wall; it was tumbled down almost artfully, bright and nearly friendly in the early morning sunlight. It pleased him to see it so—to see this violation of his forest perished, undone, shattered and fragmented.

Slowly, he walked deeper, not far, just a few paces, perhaps ten, twenty, just living, breathing, remembering. But he was an unwanted guest, an interloper, and who knew what of the Qian remained here? His ears shifted, and he stopped, regal head raised and some of his posture regained—that easy grace with which he carried himself. The fog ceased its swirling, stilled as he stilled, and only the occasional flicking of his tail disturbed it.

"Kahlua?" he hedged, too quietly for it to carry; his best bet was to wait for a patrol, and find her that way.

Regret, remorse, hold on, oh no I've got to go
There’s no starting over, no new beginnings, time races on
And you've just gotta keep on keeping on

[ Open for anyone due to its location! All I ask is that you reply in a timely fashion (~3-4 days) or I'll ask for you to be skipped. :) For @[Kahlua], but again, due to the location of the thread, you do not need to wait for her! ]