Mauja the FrostHeart
ice cold man watches earth die, eternal winter takes its reign

He often drifted through the Threshold forest even though he found nothing to bring back - it was all about timing, and it wasn't always it worked. Most of the time he found nothing worth taking home, and at other times he simply wasn't here. Fortunately, someone else from the herd usually brought the unicorns home at those times. Ulrik had been here a couple of times, and Aurelius had had success. It felt good, to know that he could rely on them to bring fresh blood home - that it wasn't only he who had an interest in it. Still, the King refused to grow careless and made sure to do his share of the task, help pull the weight of taking home the newcomers. It was during such a journey, hot as ever with the sun beating down on the world, that he saw her again.

Psyche had disappeared on and off since they had coupled in the Grove, taking their daughter with her as she ran in and out of Helovia like a mad beast. He'd seen them briefly nearly a month ago, and then they'd vanished like smoke again. It had saddened him; she'd claimed to be different from other mares. She'd taken his firstborn daughter and for all he knew, each time they left Helovia might be the last time he ever saw them. It had played with his heart like a cat plays with mice until he'd forced himself to grow cold and distant. It hurt less that way, no sharp stabs of pain, no fierce, aching sting - just a dull throb that he recalled only when he was lonely.

But every layer of ice around his heart cracked and fell away when he saw her again; she, Snö, his daughter, happily traipsing through the Threshold, heading slightly northwest.

To the Edge. To home.

"Snö!" he cried out happily, finally finding his body again; he broke into a canter, the ground trembling beneath his powerful charge, but even though the sunlight glinted off the sharp tip of his horn there was no malice in the way he moved, no threat. He just wanted to cross the ground between them as quickly as possible, eating it up in long, fast strides. Bare branches slapped against him when he thundered past, and only the desire to avoid a frontal collision with his only child made him slow down. He took the last twenty yards at a breathless, high-kneed trot before slowing, stopping; his large head snaked out as he tried to greet her, muzzle to muzzle, horn to horn.

And his eyes were the blue of a cold winter sky, but full of joy, the way the snowy world feels when the sun's light is warm upon them in midwinter.