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

He was unaware of Korra lurking in the shadows, but even had he known he would only have smiled; she was a peculiar animal, but one he valued. Fierce and savage, but keen as sharp, moon-blessed steel beneath those wild antlers of hers. As it was, he was busy watching the stallion, and did acknowledge the fact that it'd not been one of his best moves to make such a lighthearted comment to someone who obviously hadn't really stopped moving yet. The scents upon him were fresh, the sweat not yet dried, and whatever pain he bore in his heart had probably not lost its intensity yet. Mauja would, in the long run, overlook the way he snapped. He was obviously exhausted, but just ignoring it wouldn't do him any good either. Sighing inwardly, he realized his eyes had hardened slightly. There was still no hostility about the King, just a little more guarded chill. "No, I don't," he agreed, wondering what the other stallion thought of Mauja himself. That he was some pampered young fool with grand dreams, that he had never suffered or felt pain? Butting heads about who had suffered the most was pointless, though, for he knew that he could easily be outmatched by some who had led peculiar, awful lives. But, he hadn't been without pain. "Though perhaps one day you would have enough distance to the events to share it. Then I would know." It wasn't a cruel remark, or a mocking invitation - it was genuine.

It was then that he became aware of Korra; sheer proximity brought her scent to his nostrils despite the fact that the winds were in her favor. She'd always been a sneaky one, stalking shadows and clutching her barbarian mysticism close to her heart. It wasn't that she isolated herself out of arrogance, at least Mauja didn't think so - she'd had several pleasant conversations with him, after all. She just wasn't that good around others. Mauja appreciated those who knew their own flaws, and he guessed that this Daltoff would be more composed on days when he hadn't run long and hard. He gave a small motion with his head, indicating that he'd answer the question in a second, and turned to look at the short mare. She was sturdy, shaggy, with horns - antlers - unlike most others. "Korra," he greeted her fondly, giving Daltoff her name. As he guessed, she didn't do it herself. With eyes that were softer, he turned his attention back to the newcomer.

"World's Edge is the Edge of the World, quite literally," he said with a wry little smile. "It also happens to be my land - a vast, thick forest, large glades with lush grass, and so much fog the unwary sometimes walk off the Edge and fall quite a long way into the ocean." A hint of bitterness crept into his voice, and with a sigh, pale Mauja looked aside. "At least, usually it's like that. There's troubled times in Helovia. The God of the Sun is on a rampage, burning and drying the lands. We suffer, but we are not sitting idly by." Truth to be told, it wasn't much to do yet. His Plague had orders to target Sun followers, and he guessed that was as good a start as any. "We are .. pure," he added as an afterthought, sharp eyes watching for the reaction.