When she sees him it is as if an ancient part of her heart warms and cracks a thin layer of ice. It is time that has brought her to this state, not bitterness, but she is locked in it nonetheless. From above she looks down on Mauja, and with aching jaws she spreads her voice through the air. Her massive eyes scan for others, but it seems miraculously that the Basin is quiet. She shrugs, but even the slightest movement of her legs and shoulders sends a faint tremor across the surface of the icy earth.

"Mauja Frosthjärta, vet du vem du är?" she says at last, her head lowering so that she may try and appear at his level, her ears swiveling and searching for other sound. But no, there is nothing and no one. Not quite, anyway. Her massive eyes, blue and round, peer curiously at the stallion who is smaller even than one of her orbs. She watches him curiously, as if she were a scientist examining the habits of a bug, but speaks to him with great respect in a unique tongue that tells the tales of colder years.

But she has underestimated the power of her voice and the knowledge of it. As she speaks, her cold breath blows the grasses of the basin back sharply and reaches forth to press against the snow king himself. She scans him, the whole area, really, and realizes suddenly that what she speaks is not their own language. Will he understand her, even? "Hmm," she breathes faintly and contemplatively, hoping to find in Mauja a more accesible language. She stops to think, her body lowering onto massive paws and legs that crouch to press her body against the earth. Massive tails sweep across hills, one reaching out to strike and snap the tree by Arah.

The great cat spirit turns her gaze swiftly to watch the tree as it falls, and with expert swiftness reaches out and catches it on a hind claw. But what to say? Ah, maybe this would be right. "Sorry little one," she speaks to the threatened mare, her blue eyes alight with mischief that even an almost endless rest could not take from her. She returned her paw to the earth and let the tree roll softly onto the earth away from Arah. "Now, yes, that's where we were. I'll ask again. Do you know who you are, Mauja Frostheart?"

And when she asks, spittle that turns to ice strikes the surface of the basin lake and sends small waves across it; she is terrible and imposing, and yet she speaks only with kindness in her tone.