It didn't surprise him that d'Artagnan was quiet for a while, but it didn't ease the anxiety he felt. What if his friend did laugh, and say he was barking mad? (But, then, where else would he have been for those months? Wandering Helovia like a raving lunatic? Surely someone would've known...) Mauja kept most of his attention someplace else, but eventually let his eyes slide back to his old blood-red friend. He knew that the Doctor would speak soon, and vaguely wondered if he'd be offered a remedy for insanity, or perhaps something to knock out his memories.. but on the other hand, slightly mad as some claimed d'Art was, it wouldn't surprise him if he believed him.. at some point. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but sooner or later: Mauja had never been one to lie in private, and surely d'Artagnan knew that. Surely he knew that Mauja wouldn't make a story up.

"And I thought I was the insane one, are you sure Psyche didn't knock you a few times on your head? I wouldn't be surprised with your track record with mares."

For a moment Mauja just gawked at him, his eyes wide as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Then, he snorted, a fairly thinly masked laugh. His track record with mares — that was the second time in a short span of time d'Artagnan had made a mention to his err love life. Had he been away for so long that he'd forgotten that the Doctor was practically half jester? An amused smile crawled onto his face in spite of his worry, and he gave a second snort and shook his white head. "Ahh, she probably did when I wasn't looking..." he muttered under his breath, before slowly bringing his blue eyes around to d'Art's mismatched one. Despite the light tone, he seemed almost worried, and Mauja looked aside again as his dark muzzle brushed against his shoulder. The soothing touch was comforting, but as he peered into the shadows he wondered why it had affected him so — why it had nearly torn his mind asunder.. and why he couldn't really believe he was back. Though, he thought with the shadow of a wry smile, Faelene had managed to settle many of his worries.. in a somewhat unorthodox fashion. Briefly he wondered what d'Art would say to that, but he forced the thought aside. Better that the blood bay didn't know, really, or Mauja would never hear the end of it.

His theory that the Gods had only been playing tricks on him was much along the lines of what Mauja himself thought had happened, but when he went on, to speak of the herd needing their old King, he raised a 'brow and turned his head around to look at d'Artagnan. "Sure you've not been knocked on the head too?" he asked lightly while allowing the words to sink in, through flesh and bone and into his soul. Not only did he, after a fashion, confess to believing Mauja about his unfortunate adventure, but he, the mad, emotionless Doctor, offered words of comfort.. of need. Slowly Mauja lowered his gaze. "Psyche seems to be doing fine," he said quietly after a moment, looking past the shade's red shoulder and onto a few lingering horses, who had not yet broken up from the meeting for one reason or another. "I'm just glad I've been as well received as I have. For now.. I think that is enough." His hooves whispered over the cave floor as he drew closer to d'Artagnan, white flank almost pressing against the red, and with a look of concentrated fascination his blue eyes trailed the glass horns.. until he reached out, transfixed, and brushed his soft muzzle against the jagged edges of the broken one.

"In all honesty, I feel a bit broken, d'Artagnan..."