Scarred my soul for life, this man was not me...

Amusement. Were they truly so alike, owl and horse, that they reacted largely the same way to the same things? Irma gave no outward sign of knowing what had been said, and icy facade so like the one he often wore, but within she smirked, not out of vanity or pride, but simply because it amused her to be complimented. Cold, cold, wretched creatures with marble hearts chilled by winter, and yet he smiled, as if the tentative warmth of the spring sun resided somewhere just beneath his skin. He found no reason to speak, though — Irma had nothing to say to it, and to say thanks for a thing he had no control over felt.. odd. Besides, if he would've thought to say that Irma was pleased or something would've been a borderline lie, nor was there any point in keeping the subject on her.

His eyes strayed back to her when he asked about her brother. Hesitation — why? Was there something unpleasant about her brother, a quest for vengeance perhaps? Though, why would she have so readily professed it to be her reason for coming, if she did not want to share news of him? Mauja's head tilted slowly to the side, his long silken forelock sliding off the flat of his face to hang beside it, and curiosity drew his eyes forward. Apollo? He frowned for a moment, running through his memories, but drew a blank. Nothing. It was no one he had met, though he'd certainly keep his eyes and ears open. You could never have too much information. "I'm afraid I haven't heard of him." Slowly he took his winter's gaze off her face, listening to her dreamy voice. "It is," he agreed, looking down at the small creek in which he still stood. The water lapped coldly at his fetlocks.

Another doe stepped out of the forest, and Mauja's gaze was drawn to it. They were such elegant animals, wary and regal, stepping lightly on the pebbles and rocks. As Andreas laughter scared them off he watched them, how lightly they fled, springing into the shadows from whence they had come — and he remembered a mare in a dream, her coat the white brilliance of snow under moonlight, red fringes like fresh blood painted on her mane. With long, floating steps she had run from him, with the same easy grace of a deer, while he had chased with her steps like thunder, with steps that shook the earth. The world had shattered to that cacophony, but within the grace of her company he had been allowed to survive. That dream had stayed with him for days, and filled him with a feeling he hadn't been able to figure out if it was one of emptiness, or one of being too full of emotions that none of them made sense. Even now he felt an echo of that strange pain touching his heart, and sighed. A beautiful day, a beautiful dream, despite the destruction and the manner in which it had ended, in a shower of golden sparks and shadows. The end had found them at last.

Was it doomed to fail? Was it his own attempt to convince himself that it could not work, that he should hide the feelings until they crumbled into dust in the corners of his heart? His ears slowly fell back.

"They're beautiful, don't you agree?" he asked her quietly, staring in the direction they had disappeared for a moment longer, as if expecting a flash of milky white in the darkness. None came, and he smiled bitterly for a second before giving his head a shake. "You said that you sought a new home. I could offer you one," he said cautiously, trying to steer the subject away from his lapse. He had no desire to speak of Ophelia to a stranger.

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