Her touch came from somewhere distant, like the kiss of a cold, bitter wind on hot and putrid flesh; both painful, and soothing. Mauja had almost been afraid of acknowledging her, afraid that she was just a dream his pain-exhausted mind had conjured, but her touch was real and he shivered, biting back a gasp. How come she was always there? That they always ended up with a faint touch, a shadow to hide in? This was not the first time she saw him at his worst, fire-wounded and bitter, and yet she didn't flinch at the grizzly mess, or berate him for his obviously careless ways. Tired, and wishing that collapsing at her feet wouldn't be so painful, he craned his head to the side, leaning into the touch as much as he could without sending his nerves into a crescendo of pain.

But, of course, that stolen moment was too short, as suddenly the Sun's attention was on them. Cold air filled the space her warm body had held, until a tongue of fire leaped into life, covering her up; Mauja flinched aside, gagging on a startled cry of pain, and almost fell to his knees as the world went darker. He could feel the throb of pain echoed in his skull, and it took every bit of his resolve to not black out. When the world was normal again, level and aligned, Ophelia was gone. Dumbly he stared at the spot where she had stood, so elegant and white and sad, and despite Irma's slight shock at the sudden flame, she was convinced Ophelia was still alive and well, somewhere else. That conviction kept his mouth shut, though he very much would've liked an explanation.

"Mauja, you look terrible," Sól said, and "I know," Mauja said; the golden humor seemed warm, somehow not the terrible wrath of the deity who had so carelessly burned their forest and thrown Hellena against a tree. At the comment of playing with fire, Mauja thought of all the things he could say — the dragon just came out of nowhere, of course I am, I didn't mean to... But in the end, he said nothing, and sunlight erupted with the crack of a tail. Pale yellow, golden and warm, it sank through his frayed and frazzled nerves, and the breath caught in his throat — touched, somehow, dumbstruck by the feeling. It felt.. good, in some way, a pleasant heat slowly chasing the throbbing pain away, and suddenly the faint wind didn't hurt at all. And then, it felt like it had before that fateful encounter, and a cautious lift of his hoof sent only a dull echo of the pain before his body realized it was gone. Blue eyes drifted up to the golden face of a God he had loathed, a God who had hurt him, a God he had shunned because he did not possess the icy control Mauja did, but was that so strange, with the flame rising and falling from the feathers of his wings?

"Takk," he said, voice quiet, but somehow he was sure Sól would hear him. "I think you might've healed more than a shoulder." The proud, quiet King of the North bowed his head again, but there was more behind it, not merely a greeting to a powerful being; white neck arched, then his head came up again, and he left the deity be with his two chosen.

He had much to think about, now, and oddly enough, the color gold kept coming back.