There was something in the back of his mind—like an itch, that deep, sarcastic voice that used to roll in there. It was whispering, soft as a predator, the lightest of chilling touches down your spine, murmuring in his ear. Spread your wings it whispered, biting and dripping venom, drawing chalk figures in his soul. Spread your wings it whispered, and Mauja's jaws tensed slightly. Why couldn't he forget that meeting? Why couldn't he forget his clumsy choice of words?

Why couldn't he get it out of his head, this perfect ruse? The lightest touch of disease, some pity and a solution, and easy as pie he had two fillies in his grasp—hooked, ready to be hauled home.

He swallowed, one ear flicking back as their bickering kept going back and forth. I have manners! You're sick! I'm not sick!

But you are, he thought sadly, the walls of his heart turning to cold stone.

It wasn't that he would do anything to either of them, except what he'd just told them. It was just the stark reminder of how cruel the world was, and that you could trust no one. That any amiable stranger in the Threshold could be out to get you.

Mauja's paranoia had run him ragged over the years, to the point of him going numb—but there was that tiny, flickering spark of it still living in his chest. The theory of it lingered in his veins like a constant reminder, that voice always speaking of wolves and madness and the fragility of mortal life—

“It hurts!” He felt like the perfect creature from a story—mysterious in his white, wise in his detachment, safe in his looming stature and the vast shadow he cast.

And just like the words that made the stories up, he felt hollow.

Lifeless.

Empty.

He saw the slowly blossoming boils forming in the depths of her soft brown pelt, he saw the tears pooling in the corners of her beautiful eyes, but he felt nothing. Just.. nothing. He should feel concerned, or guilty, or maybe annoyed with the previous exchanged of words—but there was just this vast nothingness spreading out over his soul.

Shutting down, he supposed, taking a final glance at his odd company. Poor Areli, crying and whimpering; her pup Bee howling with a pain she probably couldn't yet understand, only feel in the depths of her soul. And finally Galiel, the prickly dreamer with a peculiar accent.

He glanced down his own thick forelegs to his hidden, frosted hooves. Mauja, Queen of Nothing, still nameless on this day.

[ @Areli @Galiel -- for some reason Mr Mau demanded I post here again, gonna get our Edge thread up next <3 ]

lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .