It was a good thing that he was a marble statue, a pillar of ice, for the small form of Snö skidding to a halt and pushing softly against him didn't even ruffle him. He didn't sway as she regained herself, merely turned his large head around to peer at her. Perhaps she'd been so focused on maneuvering the foreign terrain to look at his backside and see that he'd stopped. Whatever the case, he gave her a small smirk-smile and fondly nipped her forelock. She seemed to be a bundle of energy and pride, but there was something about her as well, something playful, like she'd inherited both her parents' taste for mischief and somehow it had duplicated in her. Mauja didn't mind in the least. What was life without laughing, without playing silly little tricks, without the silent mockery he so often practiced at the expense of the lesser? He was hardly a saint yet tried to give off the air of being one, but he couldn't teach Snö the ways of saints, could he? No. He couldn't have her ending up like those Foothills fools, fouling her pristine blood and dimming the passion she ought to hold for her race. But did that mean that he had to keep her from smiling? No. Mauja smiled all the time, even when plotting murder.

"No," he told her gently in the wake of his cry. With a sweeping motion he gestured at the charred trees stretching out to either side, except behind them. "The Sun God burned this part down, but it's just the face of the forest. Further in, it's better." But not good... So much misery remained in their thirst, browned leaves and crunched grasses, only dust rolling gently to the wind in the beds of creeks. The monarch heaved a half-sad sigh, leaning in to breathe onto her forehead, just below her horn. It would be hard, he realized, to lean his muzzle on her poll without spearing himself on her natural weapon. Sometimes he wondered if it was some mockery to the unicorn race, to keep them distant and cold-blooded by adding a cuddle-prevention mechanism in their gene pool... but then again, it bred creativity; you had to find ways around impaling yourself, encouraging sharpness of the mind. He hummed softly under his breath, nudging her before turning to look at the forest. Moonlight painted them silver, slowly drawing a graying shadow across his pupils; the night did things to him, sometimes, and the breeze ruffled his feathers as if to remind him of the things that were to come. But that was not the reason he looked aside. The sound of movement had his ears flickering, nostrils sucking the air deep into his lungs.

Lena. He was glad she was coming to meet them, for she was a tender, loving individual, but one he had a hard time communicating with successfully. Aurelius had brought her home - Aurelius, who had excused himself to go eat and rest and sleep and do whatever else Aureliuses did. Mauja was fond of the short stag. He was fond of pretty much everyone in his herd. When the Spanish mare finally made her way into the light, silver rippled along the edges of her musculature, graying her rich bay, muting it slightly. She was graceful in the moonlight, her elegance further highlighted by the monochrome light washing across her. A deep whicker rumbled in his chest. He would let her speak for herself, but not let her go unwelcomed. Sometimes he ran across individuals like her, those with whom communication did not flow easily, like a stream of water, but rather was jagged, often flowing off in a different direction, not quite fitting the frame. Misunderstandings had been aplenty between them, and he felt bad for it. Often, his lack of verbal, visual appreciation dimmed her radiance, and tonight she seemed somber all of her own, even though she smiled warmly at his child. Mauja would let her, too, speak for herself, and simply leaned in to give his herd sister a bump of his warm muzzle against her arched neck. Sweaty as he was, he had no desire to slip closer to her and rub the grime off on her. She was far too pretty to sully in such a fashion.