Does your silence speak the words I hear,
does your reserve mean what I fear?

The world as he knew it was no more. Change had come upon them, sudden and merciless, sparing no one, and forcing them all to cope. There simply was no other way to go about it; the queries cried into the dark on that fateful day, the screams of sheer terror and fright, would not solve a single thing. Perhaps Mauja was hardened by having grown up in a place where he went for weeks without the sun crawling over the horizon, and that was why he remained largely unaffected by the dark thus far, but he had to admit the suddenness of it had startled him. He hadn't been prepared, and his body certainly hadn't been. He should've spent the past weeks eating more food than necessary and basking on the sunning rocks, soaking up what sunlight he could during the too brief days, preparing for the slog through darkness. Even before the sun failed to rise the days were pathetically short and pale, and it took a great toll on the minds of some. Mauja had never been particularly bothered – most born during the darkest times weren't. Summer foals had a harder time coping with it, for they had been born when it never set.

And so, Mauja was rather at ease in the darkness itself, even though his body was shocked at the sudden loss of vital light, warmth and guide. The temperature had dropped steadily, but finally seemed to have evened out somewhat, and his bloodlines had saved him from freezing to death when the sun wasn't there to warm them anymore – in fact, it was a bit like it had been at home.

No, the physical aspects of it he dealt rather well with, but the mental? The Gods were gone. His magic was gone (and while he missed this instinctual, offensive defense, he had to admit it was somewhat of a relief to not have that violent darkness hovering at the outskirts of his mind all the time, even if it felt like he'd lost a limb he hadn't been aware of having). Light was mostly gone; they had some, still, odd sources that nestled in the trees and lit highways across Helovia, and the mirror up in the Basin cast its glow upon the lake. There were no northern lights, for there was no sun to cast it. And Irma.. Irma said it was beautiful, all those trees glowing in the perpetual dark, but she seldom ventured high enough to see it. In fact, she seldom went beyond twenty yards away from him, except when hunting. And then, she always kept an eye on him.

He didn't blame her. In fact, he took comfort in it, while realizing life had to go on. So here he was again, trying to pick up the pieces of his hastily dropped life, weaving among the dark trunks of the Threshold. Irma flew ahead of him, listening in on a conversation, feeding him tidbits of it even as he approached them – two mares, both unicorns, one bearing the distinct salty smell of the Edge. And finally he saw them, one muted to gray in this dark world, the other bearing the barest hint of warmth, of a darker color. She smelled of the world outside. Did she know that the sun would not rise when the clock ticked to morning?

How long were they going to be trapped in this? How long until the trees gave out and died? Would the grass grow fresh in spring?

Too many worries, too many questions, and no answers at all.

She was shivering, he abruptly noticed as he halted a few yards out, raising his pale head in the darkness. "Eyes," he said in a low voice, vaguely amused by something. "Sound an awful lot like ice. But there's more ice than eyes in this world, so keep yours safe." He wasn't even sure what he meant, or what kind of advice it was. Gently he cocked his head to one side. "These are, quite literally, dark times, stranger, so I'll be blunt. I can give you a home, and a family if you so wish. Protection, or the opportunity to protect." He didn't know what kind she was, was merely watching her through the dark, his eyes gentle. "We live in the north, but mountains shelter us from the worst of winds, and hot springs keep our earth warm and soft. You would be most welcome among us."