Somehow, he had guessed it right. The words came out of her mouth, a question cutting to the root of the issue. A single sentence, and some of the worry in his eyes melted away, turning into something tired. Heaving a small, sad sigh, he thought that that would be answer enough for her. If anything, he was getting the notion that Psyche ran a tighter ship, more hostile. Mauja had been fairly relaxed, smiling his faux little smiles and playing his little games, always with a polite word to hornless strangers, but cursing you when you stepped into his home, horned or not. Psyche had always been more primal, raw instincts and passion — it was what had bound them so well, his cool bridling her tongue as he dealt with politics. Left alone, well, he knew what she was capable of. Or at least, he thought so. He couldn't be quite sure, of anything.

He wondered if he should speak again, but something held him back. Her eyes, her breathing, the look on her face — it was like she had something more within, something more she wished to say. Soothing his own desire to speak, to comfort (it was easier this night, than with Leyra) he waited patiently, his ears politely turned forward. Had she found a friend, with whom she wanted to live? Or had she just begun to wonder why they lived alone? Heard rumors? Of the Plague? Had some little liar been whispering nasty lies in her ear? Belonging to the ex-Edge, the Basin, was like signing yourself up for a lifetime of slander from the ignorant masses.

".. If I decided to become the mate..."

Did the world revolve around love these days? Was it the axis, the central power, the thing which caused it all to spin, turn, shift? Was love the sole reason to breathe, live, act? Badly burned from Leyra's collapse at finding out that he didn't have feelings for her, the word "mate" stuck in his mind like a burr and made him want to scream at her and run away. Instead, he dropped his gaze, forcing the disappointment down and allowing his ears to flick back sadly. ".. If I became the mate of a winged one?"

Traitor, his mind whispered. Hypocrite, another part of him answered himself, and as the first rain began to fall upon their bodies he closed his eyes and lowered his head. He had hoped, as he did with all, that at least they would keep their hearts to their own species; they did not need to hate the hornless, but the fewer of them who associated with the lesser, the easier the scourging would be. Would he one day have to abandon the lightning-mare, and count her along with the bodies of the enemy? Swallowing he gave his head a shake and ignored the mental nudge from his disgruntled owl, and looked up at her again — seeing the tears in her eyes, he spoke before he knew it, "please don't start crying". He wasn't sure if he could take it again, so soon. Drawing in a deep breath, he hesitated for a moment. The Basin belonged more to Psyche than to him. What could he say, without lying, or giving her hope which would be dashed?

"Not necessarily," he began after a moment. "You would not have to leave, but.. I'm afraid your mate couldn't live with us." What was it, buried in the words I love you, that made mares and stallions alike do illogical things?