"You helped."
I did?

He wasn't quite sure what he had done to help her, and it showed in the surprised tilt of his 'brows. Faelene's grin was infectious, transforming his smile into something else; one corner of his mouth curled up, and a small laugh escaped in the form of a huff of breath. Mauja was not privy to the workings of another's mind, so perhaps his words had helped her — who was he to say she lied? She had no reason to, she did not feel like the type to plaster on a smile and pretend he was an almighty King. No, unless he was wholly stupid and she a master actress, she was honest. There was something genuine in the grin, and he found himself liking it, this odd, night encounter in a corner of paradise. The air felt freer, lighter, colder and deeper in his lungs, and each beat of his darkened heart came easier. He didn't feel panic caving in on him, the need to get away, pretend, smile and analyze; before the war, he had felt a need to always have the answers, to lay the right path at the feet of his subjects and friends, be their leadstar and guide. Now that he was back, and lost within himself, he couldn't find his own way and much less that of another, and somehow that kept tainting every encounter he had. To simply be, open and honest and, he thought, appreciated — he hadn't felt this good in a very, very long time.

Still with a small grin upon his face, Mauja raised his eyes to the stars again. Far away they twinkled, and briefly he wondered if they shone in daylight too, only that their eyes were too weak to pick them out against the blue of the sky? The northern lights still rippled in the sky, reflecting in his upturned eyes, and his ears rotated back as more quiet words slipped out of her mouth. " .. the need to argue..." Something about her words struck him as infinitely sad, and slowly he lowered his eyes from the sky to look at her. "It is sad, when we're too busy to think of ourselves and our opinions, that we discard others as wrong without truly listening," he murmured as she moved up towards the spring's rim, nearby where he had stood before going down to his now-gone spike. Lowering his head he brushed his dark muzzle against where it had stood, before flicking his tail and following her. Only a few steps, nothing more, and then he stood where he had, bruised shoulder nearly against the wall and the other inches from hers. Stars and fire still wheeled in the depths of the water, but instead of only one ghost peering down into it, there were two; one the classic white of wraiths, the other nothing but the hint of a shadow, barely visible against the dark sky.

"Have you dared go in there?" Her head curled towards him, and he shook his head mutely. It was nearly summer here in their vale, but outside winter held the Steppe in a merciless grip for most of the year. To get wet in such conditions wasn't something he was inclined to do. Wondering if he should do something, maybe try and push her in or wade into himself and goad her in, he craned his head towards her, blue eyes seeking the black which had been turned to him moments ago. But she'd looked back, out across the steaming surface, and when she spoke again her voice was different — that alone nearly blinded him to her words, but he did hear them, and all at once he felt very strange. Honored, touched, but also vaguely sad, that he hadn't been there to share in this.. until now. "Faelene..." His voice was silent, choked with the emotion, his 'brows drawn up and together, nearly making him look anxious. He blinked rapidly in the dark a few times, and on a whim, reached out to touch her shoulder. "If I had known, I would've been so very proud," he murmured against her skin. She smelled of horse, vaguely of sweat, a working animal: healthy, despite her troubles. Suddenly, his face transformed into a grin and he gave a light, quiet laugh, not wanting to disturb the sleeping Basin. "I'll have to be proud now instead, I guess." Giving her mane a teasing tug he stepped into the pool, carefully seeking the bottom as it was more like taking a step down than walking out to sea; he was only halfway in it, his hind hooves still upon the ground, and yet the warm water rippled around his knees. Turning his white head around, he gave her another of his youthful, carefree grins. "C'mon," he urged her quietly, waiting for her to step. He didn't want to go on this adventure alone, without her.

Mauja Frosthjärta