It was startling, and very uncomfortable, to realize that he was nervous. It wasn't the giddy excitement of some filly having their first foalhood crush, but a deep, uneasy churning in the pit of his stomach, a visceral clench; the stroke of luck at having the Chancellor herself come greet his miserable self was rapidly turning into extreme discomfort at dealing with someone he couldn't read.. and of all things, someone he desperately needed to like him. Someone he needed to please, without groveling; someone who had eyes of a naturally warm color, but they seemed so cold. Each breath Mauja drew was deep, an attempt to steady his rocking self, but steady, to mask it. A night on the run, pain he hadn't expected, setting fire to himself (if only briefly); the odds were stacking up against him, and he'd set himself in the worst conditions he could've thought of. Why? It had seemed like a good thing at the time, but he was sorely starting to regret it.

Ever so slightly her demeanor seemed to shift, and one of Mauja's ears flickered forward, gaze lightly turning sideways to scan the still-dark horizon. Her voice seemed almost mocking, and he rifled through his brain for some experience relating to this — some way to tackle her, to figure her out and shift himself without seeming obvious... But the way he couldn't seem to see past her skin had him stumped, truly at a loss, and he could only counter it by keeping up that vague sense of hesitation, of caution. He let the starlight lie like a mask in front of his blue eyes, forced a flare of curiosity into life. It felt like a losing battle, but knowing how pessimistic he'd been the past few weeks he was willing to put it down to his own nature. He tried to let it roll off with a slight shrug of his sweat-and-spots-stained shoulders, feeling another twinge of pain through his nerves. With the way things seemed to be going (or at least, the way his doubts said they were going), he'd have to rely on his inherent tenacity and try to slog through.. somehow.

"Another ache on winter nights," he replied; despite the choice of words, there was nothing of bitterness or regret in them. He would not whine to a stranger about the way scars could make your flesh ache with memory, but rather offered it as an observation, coupled with the hint of a half-smile — a different way of viewing it, all those black streaks across his hide. Besides, what was the point of educating the already knowledgeable? She was hardly unmarred herself, and with a downward flick of his gaze he added in a deferential murmur: "As you already seem to know, Sinbird." Her title rolled smoothly off his tongue, and as unnerving as his tenuous, fragile position was, he had to admit it was a name he quite liked. He stuck to it, trying to find something solid to hold on to, and wishing that the perceived sound of ice cracking was not real, but simply the echo of his pulse. He hadn't come this far to fail, and fall through into the murky waters.

[ based on her past I assumed she's not scarless herself, correct me if I'm wrong and I'll edit! ]