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

His home had burned.

The Sun had swept in, angry and childish, and set the dry trees on fire. Once it had gathered in intensity and size there hadn't been much he could do to stop it, and as if to somehow make everything worse, Mirage and her followers had swept in. Why the hell had they come there? They had nothing to do with the Edge, nothing to do with the Sun, nothing to do with Mauja! Though, he probably would've been equally annoyed with anyone who happened upon them in their time of disgrace. The pale King hated fire, and he hated surprises, especially fiery divine surprises, such as an angry Sun God setting his home on fire. Fire made everything worse, including having a bunch of Moon worshiping equines gallivanting around his flaming home. Mauja snorted, and leaned against the charred tree stump. Soot had smeared him more gray than white, and just like everyone else he had his fair share of burns. The fire had gone out, but not before most of his forest had been reduced to ashes. Still, ashes were fertile, it would regrow.. They would regrow. Rebuild. And one day he'd rip the flaming star from the skies and toss it into the ocean!

Well, he could always dream, and dream he did in his rage, and in his nightmares of infernos. Waking gave him nothing but pain and the honor of seeing his home reduced to a pile of rubble, and sleeping gave him nothing but a galloping heart and the sour taste of fear when he woke, sweating and shivering. He'd drifted away from his herd to stand alone - he was tired, but unable to find rest, and it was grating on his nerves and making him snappy. Mauja had no desire to snap on his herd, and so he'd ghosted away. Now, though... his ears flickered, and his tired, sooty head was raised and turned. Someone was coming, silently, not making much noise but still the broken forest whispered, heralding him. Exhausted and wary, Mauja's cold eyes watched the creature approach, as if born from the ashes themselves; a ridiculously long horn with a blue point led the way, followed by a gray body. For all Mauja knew, he could've rolled in the ashes. And for all he cared, he was welcome to it, and the King wished him a handful of embers to singe his coat with, too. Go away. I don't want to talk to you.

But of course, he could not say such a thing, nor could he melt into the charred remains of his forest and let the interloper be. The FrostHeart closed his eyes and gathered his strength and his tolerance, rolling up himself in a blanket of cold, snowy thoughts. A thin layer of frost clung stubbornly to the smooth length of his horn, but upon his hooves, buried in still-warm ashes, it had given up - for now. It would come back and reclaim the world, a sheet of ice and a blanket of snow. "Come Frostfall..." he half-sang brokenly, before giving his head a shake. Then, Mauja leaned away from his support and hoofed his way over to where the stranger was walking. With a tired grace he planted himself across his path, watching him with level red-rimmed eyes. The smoke had hung thick for a long time, and it still irritated his lungs to breathe and his eyes to see. "State your name and business here in the Edge," he asked in a ragged voice - but something in his eyes had sharpened, grown hard and clear and vigilant. Mauja might be tired, but he was strong enough to hold himself together, at least for a little longer. He wasn't going to stumble around in front of a stranger stallion, though he certainly felt like insulting his god-blasted timing. But oh well; the largest part of being a King was composed out of 'mask your own emotions', and it was something Mauja had learned a long time ago.

[ uhm this sucked. :c ]