striking mights and maybes even more
a useless thing called life
it's a biting cold again
Someone else would come — for better or for worse, it was the father, and not the mother, who was made aware of their presence. Warm air rose from the slopes of the Basin, spiraling up into the sky and, lazily almost, Irma rested upon them, white wings locked in a glide. To a stranger, she was just another arctic bird; to those familiar with Mauja, they knew her to be his eyes and ears, the quiet, watchful police ready to tip him off to any anomaly, trespasser, or whatever else she thought might interest him — and be fun to watch. Sometimes, Irma just didn't care unless it involved someone else's misery.

As it was, though, she recognized Mauja's daughter, Snö, but not the black stranger with her. Too tall and slim to be Psyche, and someone she did not recognize, though that didn't really matter. A lot of horses had lived here before her time, returning as family under the guise of a stranger. Turning in the air, for a moment baring her paling chest to the sun, she gave him a nudge, before disappearing in the other direction. No one else had been appearing on the tundra outside, nor in the pass itself, so she could just as well go hunting. She would be hungry soon, anyway.

Within the valley, Mauja raised his head from the slowly fading grasses. Autumn was around the corner, though their earth would remain warm for longer with the hot springs lurking beneath them. It was, perhaps, the one thing that made the Basin hospitable, as the mountains and steppes around them lay covered in snow year-round, unable to sustain a large herd. He gave his head a shake, somehow still surprised to not feel the stir of a raven feather against his neck, and then scowled. That time in his life was over, and something else had begun, though he wasn't quite sure what. In all honesty, he still felt morose, confused, lost and a bit depressed. Severing his ties with Gods and finding answers didn't quite cure it.

Flicking his tail he set off, following the beaten paths towards the mouth of the valley. Still, he had to admit that the Time God had given them a defensible home, even if he hadn't felt truly at peace since the entire truth had been revealed to him. In the Edge he had walked among the trees, at peace knowing that the Moon watched over them; here, now, he kept looking over his shoulder wondering how long he'd be allowed to remain in this dimension before a certain someone saw fit to send him off again. Bloody asshole.

Soon enough he saw them, one pale, one dark; Snö looked as healthy as always, her patches of chestnut like old, faded blood scattered upon dirty snow. Briefly, Mauja wrinkled his muzzle and wondered why he felt pessimistic enough to liken his daughter's color to something dead and dying. His blue eyes swept to the stranger. She seemed tall, maybe as tall as he, slim and slender covered in darkness, except for her belly and the top of her tail, which were white. In silence he approached them, his hooves shedding frost where they struck the ground, but the trail melted quickly in the bright afternoon sunlight.

He raised his head, but not in a gesture of power, a demand for submission, but rather to better look upon them both. In silence he extended his head, dark muzzle trying to brush against Snö's in greeting before his questioning eyes landed upon Valka's refined face and off-center horn. Silent, but not cold, he waited for either of them to open their mouths and speak.