Mauja’s voice snapped him back into the present moment like a brace of frigid sea air on his senses. His ear cocked reflexively toward the new voice, whose footsteps on the melting snow he had overlooked in favour of the boom of distant surf. It was half a beat too long for him to turn his head toward it while he gathered himself, but this was barely noticeable. In fact, it was easy to assume it was caution as he also glanced down at his feet, took careful sideways step to avoid the uncertain grass and sleet at the edge and assure his feet were set on firm ground. As he turned, his expression was surprised and politely deferential as he looked up to meet the green-eyed gaze.
The black spots on Mauja’s coat looked more like someone had strewn ink across him than as though they belonged there. The rest of him was cool in a literal way, and the ice at his horn did not seem out of place. He was tall, not quite as large as Tembovu, but still a sizeable individual and he carried himself as though he knew that. There was an easy commanding aura carried by the lighter stallion. Mauja had not identified himself, but his role might have explained the rest of that impression in a decisive underscore.
Achaius rarely felt diminutive – he was taller than average and he was amply filled out by his warm-blood heritage. But he was a realist, and next to the two of them – with the horns and the shiver of magic that underscored them here – he assessed that he appeared frankly small, and unimpressive. He was comfortable with that. Though both Tembovu and Mauja occupied a lot more space than their mere physical presence, it was not in Achaius’ nature to let others’ strengths reveal his weaknesses, or to be daunted by unpronounced threats. What was more, he knew that he meant them no harm or offence, and had the easy confidence to know that they would come to that understanding for themselves. The wind buffeted against his side as the three of them stood there, pulling salty fingers through his inky mane.
He was familiar and comfortable with social structure and hierarchy. He had a calm self-assurance that supported him with strangers. He enjoyed observing others, getting to know them, understanding them. This was the key to understanding politics; understanding the people who played it. He waited for Tembovu to introduce him, as formality dictated that he should. The larger buckskin vouched for him and he returned the other’s smile with one of his own, ducking his head a fraction in a self-effacing kind of way. When Mauja too was introduced he affected a formal, formulaic bow. It was an easy and fluid gesture that he was used to affording. This did, after all, explain the powerful sense of presence that radiated from Mauja – that which was not due to magic, anyway. As he lifted his head again to the black-spotted unicorn, he met the green-eyed gaze.
“I am very glad to meet you Mauja –“ he paused, and interrupted himself “Or do you prefer to be addressed by your title? Forgive me, I am new to Helovia and its ways…” He said this with a mildly apprehensive frown that didn’t (and wasn’t really meant to) conceal the comfortable ease in the rest of his attitude. “But Tembovu has been trying to bring me up to speed, though I think I distracted him a little quickly from his original chore.”
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