He was shining, a beacon in the night, illuminated in the softest of silver, painted with painstaking detail, like the wave-ripple upon a moonlit ocean his outline swayed with each movement. His shadow haunted his steps, running across the frigid red sand with every step, letting go of its physical anchor only to rush right back in and nip his frosted hooves. The moon painted it starkly against the ground, the cloudless sky foreign after long hours of complete darkness; his soul thirsted for the light, longed to howl its welcome to her return, but his mind desperately wished it would cloud over. He was far, far too visible, his path arcing along the desolate coast north. The godless darkness had seemed like a friend, cradling him and keeping him safe from prying eyes, but now it had betrayed him yet again. Too bright, too light, the in-the-corner-of-the-eye flashes of his own body nearly blinded him. Pristine white and shining.

He couldn't deny the constant thrum of adrenaline in his veins.
Get away.

It was the only goal he had now, to get out safely before the axe came down, salvage what he could of this mess – maybe he should just outright damn Sumati and and shout out for Kri, battle her here beneath the moon with their teeth pulled out, wreak the fragile relationship he had with the Sinbird and tackle the Resolute. It was tempting, like something honeyed and sweet just out of reach, and his long strides collected as he thought, listening to the faint rush of ocean and the ringing of his steps. Everything was too loud and too bright and he didn't know what he wanted, what he should do; he wanted to scream, until the world aligned, and the path lay clear before him. He didn't want to run blindly through the fog, where he could trip and fall any moment, and the monsters of his mind would devour him.

And at that point, as he was loping along the coastline and thinking about scattered plans, conquests and slowly fraying dreams, things entered a whole new dimension of weird. A dark creature rose from the sea, salty water rushing off its withers and back to spiral down its legs, the mane a tangled mess of long, thin cords – this all he could deal with, but the creature opened its mouth in the darkness and shouted, sounding relieved and excited, "Mauja!". And Mauja, he thought, well, fuck, and ran faster.

Water splashed as the stallion with the deep voice powered through the shallows, and somewhere far above, Irma's pale silhouette began its usual pattern of watch-keeping. Mauja's stride lengthened again, pounding the alternating terrain of sand and rocks, but the stranger who had so carelessly shouted out his name to the quiet dark was not too far behind, his dark body just another shadow on a moonlit night. Chased, and desperate to get outside the Throat before the warriors were roused by the sound of the enemy's name, Mauja allowed the dark creature to shepherd him north, their hooves leaving lonely crescents in the moist sand as they thundered forth.

[ this other horse is maybe 16.3 tall, built like a friesian, black with queer white brindling along his sides, double ice horns, a furry lion tail, and a thick black-and-white mane. ]