Night had fallen once again, but there was no moon to light the curve of his back, no moon to set his white body aglow in the darkness. Few stars hinted in the cover of clouds, only on occasion did he see them when the cold winds tore an opening. Mauja flicked his tail and kept going, frosted hooves leaving circular imprints upon the newly fallen snow. Here and there he saw a flake fall, spiraling down towards the ground — it was the first snowfall of autumn out here, but in the south he knew it would only be rain for a few more weeks. They ran on different times, separated by an ocean, bridged by an isthmus, yet this was a different world, one of cold and snow and frigid nights, sharp bites. Irma rode the winds ahead of him, finding it easier — and warmer — to beat her wings rather than ride his shoulder. And when she flew, she was faster than him, her white body arrowing towards the mountain pass. Finally seeing the walls of their fortress against the horizon he pushed himself into a trot and let his long legs eat up the distance.

Once within its mouth the owl settled upon a rock to wait, out of the wind; it howled past her, funneled by the walls, but the jut in the cliff wall by her side shielded her from its icy blast. Seeing Mauja come closer she set off again, flitting easily through the pass, eventually leaving him behind again but finding others. Descaro she knew. The dark bay with the crystal horn was loyal and dedicated. Irma knew this was not the first horse he had brought home from the Threshold, but even aside from that he was a good one, frequently patrolling or answering the cries when intruders were found. In that way, the stone-hearted owl certainly approved of him, for he made things interesting with his presence, always ready to let some blood stain that pretty horn of his. The other, however, was a stranger, and she nearly tripped Mauja when she blasted into his head and told him he had a visitor. Cursing under his breath he regained his footing on the slippery patch of ice. The sun must've melted the snow on the pass's sides and the night frozen them.

Barely blinking her pale eyes Irma swept in low over them, her keen ears picking up the sound of their speech even as she heard the clatter of Mauja approaching, coming closer at a rapid trot. The spotted one with elk-horns wondered who they had to meet with, before saying Leyra seemed fond of him, and as she passed, the owl dipped a wing to try and brush Descaro's cheek with her outstretched primaries before wheeling in an arc. Beating her wings she climbed higher, seeing Mauja disentangle himself from the backdrop.

"As I recall, they shared a bit of fun and then fell out," he commented dryly from behind them, giving his snowy shoulders a shrug. She was shorter than both of them, feminine in build but not weak. Slipping to the side he tried to come up beside Descaro, putting him in the middle; on a whim he reached out to touch his dark hip, hoping he wouldn't get kicked for having revealed the little affair he'd had with the roan. Drawing up by his head he extended his muzzle to brush it across Descaro's, for a moment looking for his eyes, to hold them, impart some silent thanks — then he was half a step ahead, peering at the mare with open, questioning eyes as the owl came down to alight on his shoulder.