The darkness was both a blessing and a curse. In it, it was easier to hide, but the same was true for others. As the hours passed and nothing grew lighter, and nothing showed an end in sight, Mauja found himself trapped in a strangeness: it was not the complete dark that bothered him, but rather what it did to him. That he couldn't see what was in front of his face was irksome, yes, but the meticulous routine he'd created to both remain in Sumati's good graces and somehow undiscovered by the majority of the herd was slipping. No longer was it the distant borders he paced every once in a blue moon, but he found himself drawing closer to the center of the lands, the oasis and the fire. Their only source of light here was a towering pillar of flame, and one he yearned for, because it was light, and at the same time he feared it. Mauja was no friend of fire.

On the whole, he had adapted well to everything; his body had learned to deal with the heat of the southern climate fairly well, but when the darkness came and the sun went, everything went colder.

He didn't mind at all.
He was as ready as he would ever be, even in the blinding darkness, robbed of magic and with hope slowly leaking from his soul. It was, he figured, both the best and the worst moment, and frankly, he wondered if waiting any longer was going to do him any good. Sighing softly in the dark, Mauja lowered his head to snuffle at the thin cover of snow over rocks he knew to be red. Only the faintest wash of firelight reached him here, giving a dim outline to each contour but offering little clarity. No; waiting longer would do him no good. Waiting longer would just wear him down further, and increase the risk of being discovered. He couldn't have that. Not now. Not when he'd come so damn far.

It was disheartening that he called this "coming far", when he had once forced himself headfirst through life, battling aside any challenge that was laid in his path. When had he grown so brittle and afraid? The taste of it was sour and bitter in his mouth, and one frosted hoof swept across the rocks, clanging in the darkness.

Anyone could've made that sound.

"I need to talk to her, Irma," the pale stallion murmured to his owl, feeling her silent agreement slosh through his soul. It was one thing to simply do it, another to try and retain what he could of his standing with Sumati. They needed to talk. It was time he came clean with her, and with that in mind, Irma launched herself from his withers as they began to creep through the Throat, mindful of not encountering anyone but her.

[ @[Sumati] <3 ]