It was the first time he had heard her acknowledge him as a friend.

The lilt of her voice lingered in his memory long after the words had been uttered, playing along the caverns of his mind, echoing, etching themselves deep into the bone. Mauja's memory was not perfect — he could not recall in vivid detail every moment of his life, every worthless encounter, every word, name and oath he'd ever heard spoken. But, for being a mortal, he had a keen one, although it was subject to the twists and turns of his mind. Worry changed voice inflection over time, uncertainty, doubt and regret clouded the exact phrasing he'd used when speaking damning words.. no recall was ever perfect, but some things he did not forget, despite the minutes ticking by. It was unlikely he would ever let the words wash out of his mind; her face might grow blurred, her voice less pristine, a word changed here or there, but the essence of it would remain.

She spoke of the dream, of how she'd been compelled to run, but not by something she could know, or identify. With the shock of finding out about the connection wearing off he felt his heart grow steadier, his breathing calmer. The blue around his pupils widened to reclaim its place, the sun glittering in them, and a smile played across his lips. He'd already told her once, hadn't he? Dreams didn't have to make sense. Still smiling he gave her nose a nudge, blowing hot air onto her face. Perhaps she'd benefit of letting her analytical mind wind down, and just.. enjoy something, without picking it apart. Like.. what? his mind asked with a kind of slyness he did not appreciate, and he banished the thought to some deep, dark hell where it could burn in eternal flames and then get buried in three thousand feet of ice.

For a moment his gaze strayed as he listened to her recollection of it, humming slight amusement when she mentioned the gold. It was strange, that the shield of his soul had taken on that color, as it was one he did not normally associate with — in fact, if anything, he would've thought it to be icy. But it hadn't been.. it had been gold, and he toyed with the idea of revealing to her what the demons where, that they were the voices he suppressed when awake but listened to at night, when he had no way of defending himself. In the end, though, he heaved a small, quiet sigh and decided against it. He did not want her to know. He did not want her to know what he was, could be, nor did he need to acknowledge his doubts out loud. Bad enough they existed at all. "We all have our demons, don't we?" he said in the end, his voice rather light and playful despite the darkness of the words. One ear flicked back, the other forth again; had that cave been his, more than hers? Had it been in his soul she had wandered, in his collapsing world she had run, some last beauty before his presence brought it all down? Or had they both strayed out on some astral road, met by chance, and danced in the darkness?

She pulled away and his eyes blinked, thoughts snapping back to the present, and not wandering the inconceivable paths of stars. The celestial had to wait, as the smell of blood testified to mortal urgency — vile, compared to the soft stardust beauty of the other world. Hearing her words, knowing she had to go, his eyes glanced skyward for a moment. Did the Gods find them filthy and primal, feral and primitive, for their warfare and bloodshed? Did they mind them flecking the pristine snow with sanguine spatters?

His mind wandering, he almost told her it wouldn't be so bad to be kept by her.
Then he kicked himself mentally, and merely inclined his head. He knew she had to go. She was the newly crowned Chieftess, leader of the Foothills, glorious, bloodstained, exhausted — and he was the exiled King, the threat in the shadows, an icy beast who lurked in the bitter winds of the north and plotted.. nothing but an enemy, and he felt grim satisfaction that he'd been the first to claim her, to hold her attention, that not even her troops had been granted those first minutes of bitter victory and the long moments of exhaustion. They had been his, for whatever reason, and as he gazed around him he wondered if it would make them resent him. Not that he cared particularly much, though he doubted it'd make them more inclined to like him just because he showed support of Ophelia. "I am glad to have gotten what moments I could," he said with a crooked smile. "Even if they, perhaps, should've belonged to your men." Mauja, a thief who stole moments. "I have no reason to linger, and I don't think my presence will be much appreciated. Take care.. of them, and of yourself," and he reached forward to rub his cheek against hers, a brief touch, before pulling back. Giving her that boyish, rakish grin only she seemed capable of causing he winked at her, before turning and elegantly striding away to the west, the sunlight shimmering across his back.