At least d'Artagnan did not bark (with a grin) at him and tell him to get his silly, white butt out of a "healer's meeting". Not that he'd expected him to — the Doctor seemed to enjoy having Mauja around, but often those friendly little quips slipped out of their mouths. Perhaps now was too serious a time, and after all, he hadn't said anything himself, just touched, which could convey a lot more than words. Irma, who had an excellent aerial view of what was going on, sent him an almost overwhelming amount of sadistic mirth, which seriously threatened to break his impassive face into a rather menacing grin. He did not want to give them all the impression that he was a murderous lunatic, regardless of whether or not there was truth in the notion. Keep a hold of his expressions he merely flicked his tail to release the pent-up energy, and barely had he settled that Aramis came bounding over. The pup seemed to have a love for his feet, batting at them with large paws and blunt claws, chasing the movement of his long hairs. Giving a sort of short snort of a half-laugh, he raised one foot gingerly, waving it a bit to and fro as he felt the pup's shape chase it excitedly, paws and teeth snapping at the fluffy mess. It was rather endearing, though he had not eyes to spare for the spectacle, as his attention was glued upon the Foothills rabble.

Irma's urgent call for attention glazed his eyes over for a moment, as his mind saw the shape of someone else disentangling from the rocky mountainside; he knew that broad, white back, the patches of brown, the stride. Blinking, Mauja remained rather expressionless, watching them with the curiosity simmering in his eyes but precious little else. Aaron came out of the shadows to stand firmly by what he assumed was his herd-mates, a little scrawny pup by his feet. In contrast to the other three, who had come peaceably, the little dog was growling, his fur on end. Something about it irked Mauja to no end, yet he did not look at it — merely graced Aaron with a fleeting look as Willow stated her cause, relaying plans of a meeting. He'd have to discuss that with someone. Maybe they could learn something useful, if they sent a spy. With his eyes back on the others, and not once glancing towards Aaron's pup, he touched the cold darkness within him, pulling it into the focus of his mind, feeling its chill settle familiarly in his veins and gut. He knew what the draft boy was capable of, in terms of fire, and he did not want to to kill a dog on their doorstep, but the arrogant cur needed a lesson in manners.

With nothing to betray that he was working, Mauja planted little crystal of ice in its bloodstream. They would, hopefully, be small enough to not cut his veins open, but definitely cold enough to be felt, maybe even drop his temperature a degree. With one ear flickering to d'Artagnan's gruff refusal of attending, he waited for the growls to cease, to maybe be replaced with a whine. All the better if he could impress fear on the mongrel when it was young. The Time Mender bade the unwelcome guests leave, backed up by Arah, but Mauja found no reason to speak. Instead, his cool gaze merely intensified as he locked it upon Willow and waited for them to leave, knowing that when they walked away, whenever that was, Irma would swoop by once more before disappearing into the Basin.