Mauja the FrostHeart
ice cold man watches earth die, eternal winter takes its reign

Maybe was the polite way of saying I don't agree with you. In an adult, it wasn't at all strange to hear, but coming from a child felt strange. After all, weren't children known for being blunt, honest to the point of brutality? He regarded her in silence for a moment longer, then gave his head the tiniest of shakes, another of his sad, tired smiles on his face. "It's such an old cliché. Simply for the sake of variation I wish it was Earth setting everything on fire. But, I guess you are right," he complained, with a slight grimace. Perhaps the Moon hadn't been so silent as he thought - perhaps she'd sent Aylin, her child, to batter some sense and wisdom back into his stubborn old head. After so many years, it was easy to get stuck in your ways, stuck in your blind faith and unshaken belief; he felt no nearer a revelation, but perhaps it was as the child said. Patience, understanding. But how could he, deathly cold with a marble heart, pretend to understand? He, with intolerance bubbling just beneath the surface, was not one to practice understanding on a core level. He understood it; had to understand it, to play his game, and had to possess patience to play it well. But despite understanding understanding itself, he did not practice it. If he did, he'd be like the mules of the Foothills. Revolting.

He snapped out of his silent reverie, slightly amazed at how even reflecting over how Aylin might've been a gift from the Moon brought him to thoughts of racism. She'd spoken, returned the compliment, but he gave a dry chuckle. "Sometimes I wonder," he told her in a dry voice, stars reflecting in his eyes. Was it wisdom or passion that dictated his actions, his choices, that influenced him? Passion, he'd say, for in logic and intelligence lay only acceptance and understanding; elitism, the arrogance and certainty found in the hearts of his racists, had little to do with logic. There were good leaders among the hornless, great tacticians and soldiers with prowess, just as there were idiots, beasts and jerks among the horned. Logic and wisdom had to fall into the shadow of passion and unfounded arrogance - he did not mind it. If he did, he wouldn't be what he was.

Mauja chuckled again, this time the sound was softer, and the smile too, like moonlight over newly fallen snow. Of course, she didn't know; he'd not told her, had he? He seldom did, preferring to not flaunt his title or rank, allowing others to judge him for who he was and not for his throne. Some figured it out on their own, some didn't. He'd rather someone bowed to him out of genuine respect instead out of respect for his position. The latter was just a mockery, and it infuriated him. The soft smile grew slightly crooked and he leaned over to give Aylin's forelock another fond nibble. "Ah, but he just did," he told her, affection warming his voice. She was a sweet child; such a pity her family was tainted, her mother an equine, and she of an open mind. He longed to close the doors in it, to take her in, but she was a loss he simply had to suffer. Perhaps she would find the passion running through her blood in the future, but if she didn't, she was out of his grasp - forever, likely. But the fact remained: he couldn't tip his hand too early, right now, simply for the sake of a child whose blood was tainted. Either she would see the truth, awakening to it all on her own, or she would be lost, dying with her eyes still veiled to the glory of her race.