It wasn't so that it didn't hurt; it was more so, that his leg wasn't about to fall off. He could ignore it for now, the quivering tip of his right hind hoof resting against the warm soil, and eventually the lack of movement dulled the pain to a throb just on the edges of his mind. As long as he didn't call upon the nerves they would only simmer, but the moment he'd move, they'd flare up again. Mauja was no stranger to pain, least of all to being burned. The memory threatened to make him shiver again, but he forced the instinct down as well as he could; a tremble passed through his body and he winced slightly when a few burned or severed nerves recalled their brutal treatment.

The things you did, sometimes. He could've shook his head if it wouldn't have sparked more questions.

She seemed to take her time deciphering his words, and each time his heart beat he felt the echoing throb of his thigh. As he remained motionless it faded to the back of his mind again, and Mauja blinked his blue eyes in the darkness. When the moon came out to light her eyes he was surprised at how.. predatory they seemed, as if she was sizing him up. Surely it was not polite to watch strangers with such an intense gaze, but he remained stoic even as she studied him. Did something about his appearance invite such scrutiny, or was it only the fact that he showed up dirty and wounded? Somehow, he found himself torn between being annoyed and flattered by it.

But then the moment passed, and she seemed to think better of studying him in silence; the few seconds of quiet they had shared were broken by her voice, and as he listened, he felt his heart slow its rhythm in wonder. First off, she didn't know who he was — secondly, by the name she called him, it had worked. Third.. she was Chancellor of the Throat. Though he wasn't sure which rank it was, he assumed it was a high one as she gave a title along with her name: the Sinbird. It sounded pretty enough, but why was she called such a thing? Did she have a dark, crooked mind? Obviously she wasn't spitting at his lack of wings, but then, the next heartbeat a little of her confidence seemed to drain, as if she was appalled by how much she had told. A low cry teased his ears.

His eyes didn't shift. He let it pass. Found his own smooth voice.

"I am Dreven, of nowhere," he told her, praying to whoever would listen she wasn't toying with him. Not that things could get much worse. A slight hesitation had been in his voice as he gave his name, as if he was reluctant to offer up his identity; not because he was uncertain of who he was, but because he didn't want his whereabouts known. In a deliberate movement his gaze and head lowered, though his eyes flickered up to peer at her for a moment from underneath his lashes. "An honor meeting you, Sinbird. As for riddles..." He grimaced, and cocked his head for a moment to peer at his wound. He didn't understand it; only the connection between the fire's beginning and end and his own call for the magic. It was too precise to ignore. "I had only meant to clean the injury a little, but seems I managed to produce something hot instead of cold." He gave a cautious shrug of his snowy shoulders, not wishing to disturb the sleeping nerves of his thigh too much. The fact that it kept quivering was bad enough to keep the throb going. "Beats me how."