White wings brought disaster to their door. Steady beats bore her through the cold Basin air, eyes sharp and hearing keen, never quite sure what she sought for. She saw much, heard more, always a-wing when they were north, safe in the familiarity of the Basin. Most of what she came upon was below her notice, the daily life of the herd, squabbles and quarrels she had no part in, but ever so often she'd find something more interesting, and when she did, she let her bond-mate know. Sometimes, she didn't tell him until days after. But tonight, in the tentative red rays of a sunset, she saw something she wagered he'd want to know of right away. Without a single scrap of remorse she angled her wings down and fell into a steep glide, her keen hunter's senses tuning in to the hushed conversation. She didn't catch it all, but the gist of it: oh, I love you, forgive me, how could I? Oh, wait, what—Mauja? This black mare had betrayed her winged suitor, just to be with Mauja? What was so "just" about that? Anyone in their right mind would rather be with Mauja instead of some horse-parody of a bird's grace. Staring at them both impassively Irma settled on a nearby rock, carefully folding her wings and taking the time to smooth a few wayward feathers into their right position.

---

"Delinne." His voice was, perhaps, a little sharper than he had intended, but that hardly mattered, did it? A few loose rocks clattered down the slope, and if it wasn't for some innate sense of where snow was safe and where it was not, he never would've taken such a steep, strange shortcut down from the path he'd been on. As it was, he came down in a shower of loose snow and disturbed gravel, trotting a few steps once he hit the ground to work off the momentum. The snow cushioned him, and with a barely audible gait he crossed the rest of the distance to them, whispering across the white. He'd begun to think this was more trouble than it was worth, though, in his defense, he hadn't been home to witness much of it the past weeks. He'd not been home in a very long time, and only the chance meeting of Argos in the Threshold had had him hoofing it north again. And, apparently that made him just in time for some juicy drama he'd rather avoid. Why had they brought Azzaron here, anyway? To keep an eye on him, so he couldn't whisk Delinne away? Maybe it had seemed wise at the time, and that was why he'd let it be, but now it seemed like it just invited trouble having them cooped up together. This wasn't why he had separated them. He hadn't torn them apart only to see them come together again.

"Why does it matter if he's my friend?" His voice was gentle and soft, concerned, like the blue of his eyes as he closed in on them. He was coming up to them from the side, and wondered if the battle wasn't already lost; Delinne stood between Ulrik and Azzaron, clearly shielding them, and Irma had relayed the image of them embracing. It hadn't looked like a hurtful thing, but rather something of healing, and he had a hunch he'd somehow taken part in their "quarrel" despite his physical absence. Did it matter that Delinne had followed him home? Was it somehow his fault that he could say a few clever things had have her doubting? What kind of lover doubted their mate, anyway?

So wasn't this just for the better?
I tried to save you.

But he'd try a little longer, not wanting to let her go without some kind of effort. He halted a little ways off, deliberately not standing beside the Engineer – if this played out as he expected it to, he'd end up there sooner or later anyway, and this wasn't the first time he wished the Plague had some kind of hive mind. What wouldn't he give to be able to silently, effortlessly, communicate plans with them, coordinate their actions and words to not contradict. He and Psyche had a natural knack for it, but they had to toe the line of saying nothing of real substance, or they'd get themselves tangled up.. so what wouldn't he give for the ability to, silently, tell Ulrik to keep his judgment quiet a little longer? To ask him to try and save Delinne, because she was a unicorn? But he couldn't, and instead, looked upon the black lightning-mare he'd brought home over a year ago. She'd bled for—with—them. And here they stood, and he felt like someone had driven a wedge in between them. A wedge called Azzaron.