Solid earth beneath his frozen hooves, the sounds of snowmelt and birdsong — a wind that tasted of everything he knew brushing against his face, filling out his lungs with each breath he took. Something in this air tasted right, like memories come alive again, and each time he closed his eyes he feared he would lose it all when opening them again.. but the world never slipped away. It stayed the same. The people stayed the same. Bit by bit he began to relax, thinking that maybe it was real, that he was back and it wasn't all just a cruel, cruel dream. When faced with others he smiled like he always did, curling his darkened lips into that soft, odd little expression, spoke in his calming, certain voice; but in the hours of darkness he stared at the ice and the rocks, panic hammering lithely in his chest as the world fall apart and his throat constricted. He had nearly been choked once in life, and the sensation was much like it; he shivered slightly where he walked, and pushed the thought aside. No point in questioning truth and existence when no one he knew could provide him with the answers he needed.

But being back threw another thing at him: duty, and one he had, unintentionally, carried out even when lost. Seeking solitude, peace of mind, the easiness and haze of long movement, he had paced south. Thoughts spun in his mind, schemes and needs suddenly waking up, as if someone had gently blown the dust off them. The quicker he acted, the better, but for now, he had to lay low. He still shook in the dark, terrified of being torn from his loved ones he had only just reclaimed.

His straying hooves eventually took him to the Threshold, a place he had visited so many times he felt like he knew every tree in the vast forest. Passing scents of feathers, sights of bare foreheads, the mysterious snowbeast walked on, not sure who he sought, but certain he would cross their path sooner or later. Idly ambling along in the dusk he gave a humorless smile at the irony; most horses became less visible in the dark.. but he just became more visible, as his white pelt stuck out like a sore thumb. Once the moon would take over, he would shine like a beacon, like a ghost.

He didn't want to be a ghost anymore.

Sight in a forest comes gradually, when trees clear and bushes sway another way; it is not like walking around a corner and suddenly finding yourself face to face with someone. His black-rimmed ears swept forward as his keen gaze picked out shapes in the distance, and after a few moments his head came up higher. Curiosity drew him closer, and eventually he made out their features; thick of build and dark in color, and both with slim horns upon their foreheads. Whickering a greeting Mauja flipped his head, tossing his pale forelock out of the way, even though his heart picked up its fleet-footed pace. What if they wouldn't see him. What if he wasn't real. What if he was dreaming. What if he was dead. Irma probably would've pecked his head if she was close enough by, as it was, she just gave him a grumpy nudge across their bond. "Greetings," he called out to the pair, for a moment turning his attention to the forest around them, seeking for prying eyes and attentive ears. Nothing. Relax. "And welcome to Helovia. I am Mauja. Do you seek something here?"