( each time I try to write this reply, my muse is like LOLNOPE. sorry guys. :< )

She accepted him – welcomed him even, gave him sanctuary in her shadow, respite, a moment to breathe. No matter how brief, that simple pause, that she did not move aside nor question him harshly for his absences, rejuvenated him, breathed life into his aching spirit and slowly began to replenish his strength. Marvelous, what a little friendliness and a familiar face could do to a paranoid soul living on the knife's edge, always just a single misstep, a single mishap, from a rather unfortunate and unsatisfactory end. He knew that it was stupid, but for that short moment, Lena's soft muzzle tickling his neck and shielding him from the stranger, he let go of everything – he no longer listened to the sounds of the forest, no longer sampled the air and picked apart every scent. For that moment, much too short, even his thoughts were silent, Irma and Lena his only guards.

Then it was over, her touch leaving the winter air to remind him of how warm her breath had been, and the wards around his mind came up again, placing him in his transparent castle where he kept an eye, an ear, upon everything, but remained untouchable. The world was a harsh place, and while it would probably be good for his sanity to practice relaxing, he was allergic to letting his guard down.

Mauja's blue eyes were fastened on the other stallion, awaiting his response, his gaze soft despite the calculations in his mind. Eyes met, red and blue, steady, but the voices were silent for what felt like a lifetime. Had his blunt statement, despite the open way it was worded, been taken the wrong way? Like an insinuation of weakness? Or was he wary of following gentle strangers? (Maybe he should be, Mauja thought ruefully, thinking of Argos.) But finally he spoke, a careful statement of strength, to which Mauja just wanted to snarl and smack him on the head and drag him home by the tail. It didn't matter that he was strong or not – what mattered was that he was positively drenched, and every second they spent talking was a second his flesh spent cooling. Getting wet in winter was one of the most dangerous thing, with how fast it stole the body's warmth and threw it into the air: even a gale with bitter winds was better than a shower of freezing rain.

But fortunately, Lena had a softer tongue than Mauja, who nodded along mutely, enthusiastically, to her words. Once the cold settled, the first sign of hypothermia was lethargy and, unfortunately, stupidity. Perhaps that was the reason his keen eyes were so intense, so focused upon the shivering stallion – Mauja did not want to miss the signs. If he had to, he'd bully the newcomer all the way to the Basin and.. and do what? Dunk him in the hot springs and keep him trapped there until spring? No. He frowned. Weren't some of the deeper caves, adjacent to the springs, of a rather warm temperature? Right. He had a plan, and a goal, and said, his voice much calmer and smoother than he felt inside: "Perhaps we could walk to stave off the chill while discussing it."