but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

To expect the Queen to materialize from within the borders would, perhaps, seem the most natural, but if you knew him, you would know that it was a stupid notion. Mauja was whimsical, moving this way and that, drifting across the face of Helovia with an odd blend of purpose and .. well, lack thereof. He was not sure what he was doing, always roaming, heart sick and mind bound, but one thing he knew was this: the reason most of his meaningful interactions were held at the Edge these days was because of the simple fact that he was always going somewhere when he was outside of it.

No time for idle chatter when you were heading to the Threshold. His life had been reduced to two corners of the world; the Edge, and the Threshold, and the long trek between them nothing but a blur, a means to an end, necessary evil.

This time, he came alone, though, not having found anyone to bring home with him. That happened, sometimes, and he couldn't wait around for forever. His precious kingdom might decay without him. Torleik might go mad without him.

The Sun could come and burn everything, or Lace would return and snap and snarl, or.. just about anything, and frankly, Mauja didn't trust his black King to keep shit safe for him.

So, with the dawn threatening to light up the sky the ghost came up to the glass wall, the chill of night causing his breath to smoke. Fog curled out between the gaps to clutch at him, swirling along his legs as he paused for a moment by the razor edges. Breathed in. Closed his eyes. Breathed out. Tembovu had passed here recently, in company with an unknown mare. At best, he was just minutes behind; at worst, half an hour or so.

Mauja's blue eyes opened again, and with ethereal ease he slid across the border, flicking his tail up out of habit to not leave any long strands stuck in tiny, tiny cracks. Call him vain, but he'd look like a half-plucked chicken if he didn't.

Irma, just as much a ghost as he, soared ahead on pale wings, the fading starlight glittering upon the snowy feathers. There, she whispered, her voice cold, a frigid whisper skimming the surface of his soul. Tembovu, and an odd mare dwarfed by his side; the owl's keen eyes picked out the fine, downy hair, but Mauja was fairly sure she'd look half-naked to him. How.. queer.

But not one to judge—only one to wish he still lived in the Basin, so he could ask their Weaver to weave her a cloak to stop that shivering—he swept after them. The mist curled around his legs, stuck as little droplets to the tips of the fine hairs, shimmering with the fading lights of night. Faint sweat dappled his flanks, veins standing out against the arch of his neck, proof of the jog he had kept up to reach home.

And his soul fucking soared for once, light in his eyes, a small, boyish smile curving his lips as the owl listened in to the tail end of their conversation.

"Kings?" he called, lightly, as he came up behind them, long legs slowing fluidly to an elegant walk. "Please," he went on, something dramatic and exasperated lurking along the rims of his gentle voice. But he didn't go on—didn't remind Tembovu that he preferred Queen if he was going to say anything about it. Just hoped he would remember it anyway.

And start using it, damnit. He had been King when he had ruled here before, steeped in blood and racist glory, arrogant and haughty; broken and ruined and burnt as he was forced from his home.

He was a King no more.

"Welcome home, sister," he offered as he slid up next to Nuray, matching his strides to theirs as he drew level with them; offering his black muzzle to her by way of greeting. "I am Mauja."

[ Weeelcome! :D @Nuray, @Tembovu ]

man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same