d'Artagnan, no matter their divided opinions about him, was not what he had come to discuss. And much as he would like to humor her, he would not put down the Doctor - someone who was, undeniably, growing on him. Rapidly. He could be all soft, amused smiles when Seiren spoke of her cold hatred, could let her and her emotions be at peace... but he would not join in, not ever. And should she one day wish to act upon her loathing? Unless the positions shifted drastically until then, he knew whose blood he would spill and whose he would defend. So only silence met her when she spoke of him again, something hard to read in his gaze. Part warning, part bemusement. He would not force his herd to love one another, would not try to meddle with their feelings, instincts, and opinions.

But he would not tolerate murder.

Seiren drew herself up, an authoritative, official air around her. Sensing what was to come, Mauja's gaze sharpened and his ears perked forward, drinking in her dark-edged voice. Construct walls? That was both disturbing and fascinating, a furrow appearing on his face as his tail slapped against his hocks. What kind of power was that? Where had it come from? In what destructive manner could it be used against the Edge, should war occur? Hard to know, hard to guess, harder to find out, with the way that the Foothills treated them. He hummed in acknowledgment, sifting through the information. Some things he knew - their mix-blood policy - and some, like the wall-making freak, he did not. He'd skirted around the terrain a few times, and the lowest foothills were okay to navigate and walk through. But he could imagine that some parts were rockier.. and if you wanted to sneak in... He grimaced slightly.

"Thank you, Seiren," he murmured, taking a step closer to breathe warm air onto her mist-gray neck. He would not give her the pleasure of knowing what he had already known and what not; she would have to figure it out herself, or just accept the gratitude. Something kind was in his eyes - not soft or weak, but fond - and as he brushed past her, he let his muzzle trail the length of her spine. "Come, why don't you walk with me?" He invited her with a smile, a flippant flick of his tail; he enjoyed the raw passion of her emotions, the way her black eyes grew cold and hard when she spoke of the heathen unicorns who lived among others. It would do him good to fuel that fire, and to feel its heat lap against him, too. Too often did he prance carefully, too often did he dull the ferocity of his own flames for the sake of appearances. It would not hurt him to burn brightly, just for a moment, in the relative safety of his own home.