[ that's fine. ^^ ]

It was slow going, every sense straining in the darkness. Irma's keen eyes were next to useless in this strange setting, because even if nothing moved the distant fire flickered, and sent the pale wash of light a-shimmer. She had learned not to trust what she saw, relying on what she heard instead. Mauja's nose was better than hers, and together, they managed to make their way through the dunes. If someone saw the flicker of light on their distant shapes, they didn't approach; and if someone had, Mauja would simply had drifted away until the shadows claimed him again. Even so, he expected an outcry any moment, and all his plans reduced to dust, and ash, left to swirl with the sands in mockery of pristine snow. His ears flattened for a moment. What was he even doing here?

"Wayward citizens of the Throat, find light in my direction!" They both heard the call, and Irma wheeled in the air to better face the Chancellor. There was distance between them, and Mauja stopped for a moment, his grace lost on the darkness. The good news? He'd found the one he was looking for. The bad? She might not be alone, crying out like that. For a moment, he hesitated. Would it be better to wait, and try to find her later? His jaws worked soundlessly, grinding lightly against one another. Or would waiting just make sure she was surrounded? His tail slapped against his hocks, a hollow, rushing sound in the impenetrable night. Risks, he growled in his mind. You've grown old and cautious, Mauja. Come alive again.

And so, one hoof stretched out, came down, and his body was moving forward again. Irma's wings swept through the darkness, but she heard no one other than Sumati. Perhaps luck favored him for once, and he risked propelling himself into a trot, climbing the rising and falling sands. Still alone, Irma told him, circling above, and finally he "saw" her – as much as you saw of anyone at the outskirts of life. She was little more than contours lit by the distant fire, much like himself.

His gait slowed to a walk, and at what he figured was a respectful distance (without seeming cold and detached) he halted, and inclined his head. He wasn't sure she'd see, but it felt better to stick to protocols. "Sinbird," he greeted her quietly, mindful of what might lurk in the darkness and unwilling to let anyone creep up on them and hear what he, eventually, would have to say. "I hope you have fared well in this darkness?" He allowed the slightest edge of strain to creep into his voice; the blackness had begun to bother him, but in all honesty, he seemed to have an easier time simply accepting it than others. Either the sun would rise again, or it wouldn't, and it was easier to simply assume it wouldn't. That way, he wouldn't die a disappointed man if it never did.