There were many magical inhabitants in the land of Helovia - what would make this stallion different from any of them? They all had their own repertoire of powers and tricks, illusions or real. Mauja himself had suffered at the power of someone who wielded fire, one which burned in your very skin, triggering every shade of pain your nerves knew how to convey, and yet it left no lingering damage except a memory which you'd rather forget than remember. To simply appear was no great feat in comparison to some of the things he had seen or heard of. Either the stallion could actually teleport, which was quite fascinating, or he somehow bent the rays of light around him to mask his movements, or enhance his nerves to move faster. Nothing of this set him apart from others, and unlike the tribrid Gods, he seemed nothing but a unicorn - black, white-marked, normal. So what about him was it that made the breath catch in Mauja's throat, that made him wary, even eager to please? He gave his head a tiny shake, called himself a fool, and decided to get over it. He'd probably be annoyed too, if he went for a stroll somewhere, and was suddenly mobbed by curious, staring individuals. Who wouldn't? Feeling even greater a fool than the obviously bothered mare, Mauja cocked one hip and rested a hind hoof on its tip.

He gave nothing away, though, of this shift of mind. Just graced the company with one of his slight smiles at the stallion's easy response. Good thing that he wasn't throwing fits about his crowd of fans, though Mauja was slipping back into the comfortable role of himself, and not some coltish gawker surprised by a fancy trick. Not that this decision left the black stallion any less worthy in the King's eyes, but it definitely made him feel more at ease. Surely this dark stranger had his own secrets, reasons for acting like he did and being who he was.

A low chuckle escaped Mauja. "That's a twisted way of both returning the courtesy and not returning it," he said with a wry, lopsided grin. "And as I am not close to you, except in the physical sense, I find myself with a nearly unlimited amount of choices of nicknames." He arched a brow coolly, not exactly smug with his own little trick but amused by it in the detached way he often was. "So what would you say about Asni, hm?"

Talk turned to snow, and his thoughts skipped into the past - not just to the past in which this Steppe had had a tree and an owl, but to the past in this time - his time. To a certain white, red-fringed unicorn, to whom the Ice King had confessed a bit of lunacy regarding winter. Finding Midas' statement entirely unfair, as he himself had come here quite often, he gave a low snort. Between his ears, the owl stared with unblinking eyes at the new winged creature in the sky. "Or we just take different paths, Pegasus." Despite the way his mind snarled out the race, his voice was neutral, lips showing perhaps the faintest hint of a wry quirk - outwardly amusement, where irritation reigned within. His attention slipped back to the dark stranger, even though his ears flickered back to take in the sound of an approach. Snow... The easy way in which this stranger dealt with a sudden crowd, his fondness for snow, the cool, controlled language his body spoke - it felt familiar, somewhat like a mirror of his own self. Perhaps they were not so different, after all.

Of course, the mouthy mare had to ruin it all.

Finally, he swung his head around to acknowledge her presence, easily recognizing her as one of Mirage's loyal followers. Not only had she come to the Edge and shouted things she were entirely unentitled to shout when not being part of the family whose home was being wrecked, but she'd also come with the dragon-mare and her dragonhorse-pet to try and wrench that very home from his grasp. Someone had made short work of her, though, but for the moment, showing her her place again felt.. less important. Too many onlookers. Too many questions. Mauja was tired of being nice, but he had to pick his fights carefully. The rest of Helovia stood united against him, and strong as he and his kin were, that was a dangerous foe to play with. But her words, her gryphon (it was hard to fight the urge to step on it or place little crystals of ice in its veins), made him want to eat her alive. The look of neutrality hardened into something unforgiving, unyielding, a single, resolute word slipping off his tongue: "No." A flash of dark ice in his gaze as he looked upon her, his very being speaking the statement hidden in his word: you are wrong.

No reasoning could tell him why he had reacted as such, why he had so quickly, firmly corrected her - just the deeply rooted knowledge, instinct, that in this thing, she was so very wrong. Keeping his tense jaws shut, he offered no further explanation.

If she did not know snow, then she would never understand if all he had to offer her was words.