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

He decided that he liked this shady mare - it was just something about her, the way she watched him, the way she didn't balk at his familiar greeting, but returned it instead, warm muzzle bumping against his. Mystified, but rather pleased, he let his pale gaze descend to hers; pitch black, swirling with secrets and a savage brand of intelligence. Somehow it was both beautiful and unnerving - unnerving in the sense that he couldn't discern what she thought, that he had no idea if he would ever fail to prove himself in her eyes and she would turn that knife-edged cunning upon him. That would certainly be a most unpleasant scenario, but Mauja tried to not make a habit out of pondering the myriad of ways those around him could betray him. Instead, he tried to focus on making sure they did not get those thoughts in the first place. In short, he tried to be the kind of leader they would want to follow, the one that would bring them to glory and power and a new dawn for the Unicorn race. And those who didn't think like him? If they had a problem with how he ran things, they could go fuck Gossamer over in the Foothills. Mauja felt nothing but pure contempt for the horned who believed themselves equal with the hornless.

It was a long time since someone had called him by his entire title, and somehow it felt a little weird to hear her murmur it in her hushed, sinister voice. A lot of the time he got tired of all the your graceing, but this, this was something different, and he suppressed a shiver. He could understand those who were creeped out by Seiren, because by the Moon, if she ever sneaked up on him in the darkness and whispered menacing things in that witch's voice of hers, he'd probably send an ice spike through her on pure instinct. His ears flickered to the sound of her words, and he gave a hushed laughter when she spoke of d'Artagnan. "Not too fond of your brother, hmm?" he said softly, a wry little smile playing upon his face. Mauja liked smiling, at least some times - the wry ones, the crooked grins, smirking... But he didn't know how to make a happy-smile. When he was happy he just...was happy. Shoving the strange realization aside he was about to address the fact that she had information when her eyes narrowed, and he shut his mouth again, thinking more was going to come.

He was right.

It was a concern that was curiously similar to one of his own - the fact that he didn't know this particular warrior at all, and was supposed to entrust his safety to her. He chuckled. "And I prefer being on good terms with my warriors. Do not worry about offending me, Seiren, it is quite hard." Unless you do something like betray me, or sell my herd to the devil. He cocked his head, feeling the faint wind tug at his forelock. Oh, well, small talk aside; she'd called him over primarily for business, so might as well get that out of the way. Once they'd settled what she knew of the Foothills or not they could do something else, like.. get to know each other. How the hell do you get to know each other? He could hardly force her to answer ten thousand questions and then pretend he knew who she was. No. That just wasn't the way things happened, but when it came to honest small talk, Mauja was crap. He hoped Seiren was a good conversationalist, but her preemptive warning spoke of the opposite.

"But, the Foothills you said? I'd like a full report on that," came the dry command, a crooked grin on his face. He might've phrased it "like", but coming from him, that meant "I will have it". He was certain Seiren and her dark-eyed intelligence would understand it - the question was if she was fond of mocking others, and would use said dark-eyed intelligence to pick on him. He hoped not. It would be bothersome.