It did not play out as he had expected. With the roar of the storm in his ears, and a cold hunger in his gaze, he had expected defiance, a challenge, or even a dash for freedom. But, no — no such thing came. Only a bitter, sarcastic voice from the stationary mare, and in spite of his anger his black-tipped ears braved the air to swivel forward. Fair? Dead children? Not fight? He kept blinking back the storm-tears from his eyes, staring at the dull-colored equine, not quite comprehending. He had been so sure that someone who harassed their borders and made attempts for their kin would have more fire in her soul, be ready to fight for her right to cause havoc.. he had been so sure that he would feel the warmth of blood on a cold, storm-wracked night, that pearly red would litter their tracks north. But fate was cruel, and for several long moments Mauja stood still, where he had stopped, just staring at her with his frigid eyes. Slowly, the monster pulled back, unhooking its fangs from his mind and soothing the frantic pace of his heart. Bit by bit truth sank in: there would be no bloodshed. There would be no release.

And so it was, that Mauja had gone from a wintery monster to just an ordinary, wind-whipped stallion. His crown of flying white hair remained, but his muscles had relaxed, his jaw no longer set so strong and his eyes not mad with pale blue fire. "Very well," he said after a moment, his voice smooth and cold. This had been easier than expected, but at the same time.. he had been looking forward to a fight.

But, damn — he was not one who could be seen fighting without a cause. He couldn't go and just beat someone up.

With a sigh the storm stole and a flick of his white tail Mauja closed the space between them, looking at her intently for a moment. He was not quite sure what was passing through her head, but that she was frustrated with him was obvious. But in all honesty, what had she expected? No retribution? Someone young and meek come to collect her? "Few things in life are fair," he suddenly said, his voice unexpectedly soft. Had she truly given birth to a stillborn, or was it just an attempt to garner his pity? To make him change his mind? With a flick of his neck he reached out to try and push his dark muzzle against her neck, to seal the bond between captor and captive, before spinning around to face north. "Thank you," he said quietly, not sure if she'd hear him over the keening noise of the wind, but what did it matter? "Let's go, then."

And with that, he was off, striding north with a burdened, conflicted heart.
In anger, all was so easy, but once he came to, it was always more complicated than it had been before.