The only way to get out of the rain was to survive long enough for it to stop falling. It was a rather bleak thought, but it was how Mauja felt about, and how he had been taught to feel about it. Some of it had rubbed off on the stranger, because he was eager to walk, too, easily catching up with the taller snowbeast. Most of his attention remained on the horizon, eyes drifting across the landscape, occasionally tilting sideways to the dark stallion – but his ears flicked, showing that he was listening, quietly evaluating what he heard. At least he had a brain, this boy, not jumping to the first suggestion but rather thinking he couldn't quite, honestly, choose based on what little Mauja had given him. And that was true, Mauja guessed, but for him it was always easy coming here. Just say come to the Basin, blah blah, simply because they had a horn on their head, and try to make sure they didn't go anywhere else either. This.. well, how was he supposed to know where Kodiak would fit? As if he could make the choice any better for him, than he could for himself. Mauja snorted quietly and walked in silence for a few paces, sorting through the information he'd been given, the questions asked, even ignoring the common courtesy of dropping his name. He would, in time.

"You can go to the Throat," he clarified after a moment, feeling Irma wheel in the air somewhere high behind them. "But you would be quite alone on the ground, I think." It just wasn't a blanket ban, like the Basin had. Wear no horn and walk in, and it wasn't sure you walked out again. Hobbled, if you were lucky, not at all, if you were unlucky. "And how am I supposed to know where you fit best, Kodiak?" he said with a lopsided grin, giving him a pointed look before turning his attention ahead again. "But I will be honest with you. I'd rather you went to the Foothills, simply because I know one of their leaders. However, they are a mercenary group, meaning you'll fight or spy for hire. It requires a certain, ah, lack of morals, I would think?" Because, let's face it, a mercenary group would not survive long if they were picky with their contracts. Someone paid, and they did, no questions asked.

At least if they were anything like the mercenaries he had met before.. and trying to fit that together with Ophelia, opinionated and wise and beautiful in her sorrowful air.. it just didn't add up, and suddenly he understood some of Paladin's reserve at the idea. Was it Ktulu who was the wild beast, then? He saved the thought for another day.

"As for the war.. in the past, I got a feeling they were religious wars between the followers of the four gods – Moon, Sun, Earth, and Time. These days... there's been an Outcast band ousting a religious Order, a religious Outcast band ousting my old herd, though we settled elsewhere, and the latest was the Grey – the mercenaries – taking over the Foothills, because they needed a stable base of operations." He shrugged faintly. "And now, the Basin and Throat are, forgive the wording, at each others throats. The tensions are running higher again." Perhaps he'd dropped enough information to make Kodiak piece together that Mauja was part of the Basin, or perhaps he hadn't, but he wasn't about to lie about the situation either – or paint himself as the only villain in the neighborhood. Kri was as much to blame for the mess as he or Psyche were.

"And my name.. it is Mauja."