Mauja hadn't been more restless that night than any other. As red northern lights flared across the sky in a display that was becoming familiar, though no less breathtaking, he'd been walking along in the shadows of the mountains, exchanging quiet words with those who wished, or just smiling to himself as he passed one of the Basin unicorns asleep. Not much had happened that night, nothing had really stirred; no armies had materialized in the fog on the steppe to swarm their home, and the mountain pass remained empty of late-night visitors. All in all, it had been a peaceful and quiet night, pleasantly cool against his rugged fur. With the tundra so close, the nights were seldom more than "mild", though the days could be quite warm. Keeping to the established paths, so as to not ruin the grazing with frequent patrolling, Mauja made his way around the Basin. The dance of sky-fire was slowly drawing to an end as the eastern horizon was growing lighter, chasing away the stars too as the Sun began its ascent to heaven.

It should've been a dawn just like any other, but it wasn't. A shriek unlike anything he had ever heard split the peaceful morning, rumbling and ricocheting along the valley walls, something which sounded terrible and like the mixture of a raven and a dying animal. Mauja froze where he was, blue eyes going wide, and wondered what deviltry had come to haunt them now.

Only one way to find out. Drawing a deep breath, the alabaster stallion nudged Irma, who informed him that she had been asleep and would very much like to stay so thank you very much. Flicking his ears backwards, he poked her again, replaying the memory of the scream, to which she just snorted and sent him the image of something which looked monstrously huge and feathered sitting among the rocks on their border. She'd seen it before, and not told him? For a moment, Mauja's ears pressed against his neck, but she just said that it hadn't seemed evil.

I would've liked to know anyway.
The owl shrugged mentally, and went back to sleep.

Grumbling under his breath, Mauja set off at a long-legged trot, eating up the ground in the direction her picture had displayed. He didn't know the Basin nearly half as well as he'd known (knew?) the Edge, but he had time, at least so he guessed. The sky grew ever lighter as he moved, and at last, he spied the shadow among the rocks. Built like a sturdy horse, but covered in feathers, with feathers for a tail, feathers for mane, a twisted, black beak down his head, scrawny wings, a horn on his forehead, one red eye — what was this? Why was the curve of his horn familiar?

"Who are you, what are you, and why are you screaming as if the sky is falling down on you?"

Mauja's authoritative voice rang out over the distance, his posture wary, alert, but not hostile — yet.