For once, he had actually been asleep at night, dozing out in the open with his pale head lowered and one hind hoof resting on its tip. Irma, however, was not asleep; she glided among the curtains of cloud restlessly, sometimes slipping out of their cover to scan the ground for prey, but finding nothing of interest. Beating her large wings she banked to the right, swept in a 180 degree turn, and continued back, intending to give up for tonight and perch on her bonded.

But, in an instant, she was fully alert, her icy gaze piercing the cover.

A shape, too large to be a bird, was moving down through the clouds, and knowing that his kind shouldn't be in the Basin, Irma locked her wings in a glide and angled down, emerging like a stray spot of moonshine under the gray cover. He was tall and gangly, some pale color, with even paler primaries and secondaries, and covers of a deeper, dark color. Without seeing the flame marks on his haunch, Irma knew immediately who it was: Azzaron. She also happened to know that Mauja both loathed the stallion, and was wary of him. Normally, she'd leave the business of her bonded to him, but a twinge of guilt interrupted her cold heart. They were, after all, bound together, and though she'd much rather have him to herself, she had a duty to him, and without needing to ask, she knew that he would do anything for her.

Back on the ground, Mauja jerked awake, flinging his head up and staring wildly, wondering why a dream of Azzaron (for the image of him descending through the air was printed upon his mind) had the power to wake him, as if it was a nightmare. A second later the view tilted down, and thanks to the start Irma had given him, he knew at once what was up: the ground he was heading to was the Basin, and the snowy owl had her predator's gaze set on him.

There was no time to lose. He hadn't broken him and Delinne apart just to lose her again, and least of all so soon. Drawing in a lungful of cold night air, he let out a mighty bellow. "TRESPASSER!" he roared, his voice echoing along the mountain walls and surely jerking at least half the herd awake. Normally he didn't create such a racket when something unwanted flitted in, but this was a different situation — one of their herd mates, recently reclaimed, was at stake (and not to mention his and Psyche's, err, credence, if they'd even had any to begin with). "INTRUDER!" rolled a second roar, more vocal than verbal yet carrying the meaning clearly as the newly woken monarch gave his head a shake, before flying off in a canter.

In the meantime, Irma saw Delinne approach, and pulled her wings in to her sides, divebombing towards Azzaron's head; she snapped her wings out in the last moment, careening just an inch over his head and dipped one foot of long, sharp talons down, trying to grasp one of his ears, maybe even take a chunk of it, before gliding away on her momentum, angling into the sky.

From somewhere, Descaro materialized, and by the lack of grogginess in his eyes, Mauja assumed he'd been on guard duty; without slowing, the Ice King just motioned, mid-stride, for him to follow, and heard the clatter of his hooves as they both charged towards the pair, which he now could see with his own eyes. Pale Azzaron with his vile wings, and Delinne, along with small Destry. Pity she might have to see blood shed at such a young age, but there wasn't much he could do as he skidded to a halt between them, casting the lightning mare on his left a worried glance, as if to ask if she was alright. Barely a second he looked at her, before snapping his head the other way, narrowing his frigid eyes at Azzaron.

"Get out," he ordered him in a cold, curt voice, the kind which brooked no argument — but Mauja expected him to argue, all the same.