Mauja Frosthjärta

What did she think now, when he didn't respond to her question? His heart pounded in its cage of a chest, both so cold and so alive, liquid ice and fire somehow combined; did she think him a murderer of children, ruthless in his attempt to cleanse the world of hornless? A viper who struck at the tender root before the tree had a chance to blossom? But I'm not, his heart and mind whispered in choked despair. I'm not I'm not I'm not. And yet he was just silent, did nothing to amend his statement with the truth—that fickle, damnable thing. She just chuckled in a kind of.. bemused? way. "Whoever said I was a good girl?" It even drew a snort from him, which under the circumstances could only be described as a sign of amusement. Cheeky, he thought, but was not entirely convinced: in the conflict of black and white, there was no gray. Either you were a bad guy, in this case a racist, or you weren't.

Though some tyrants didn't care about anything other than themselves, and their power, and nothing in the world was the stark white of snow or the pitch black of a moonless, starless night. Everything was dirtied gray, and Nyx's blue eyes had been much too wide at the subject of heart-eating—neither pristine nor of the dark. But he didn't comment on it—didn't tell her of her wide, wide eyes and the tremble in her high-pitched voice, the blabber of words.. she wasn't interrogating him to become a racist. If anything, he had the notion she really didn't agree with it at all.

Well, that makes it two of us.

Those same blue eyes, reflecting the autumn sky, met his, but only briefly before they fell again. What was it with her and dropping her eyes? Why wouldn't she ever look at them? She'd done the same with d'Artagnan, looking everywhere but at him, and it made Mauja feel weird, talking to someone who refused to look at him, or meet his eyes. Did she lie so much her gaze shriveled up and blackened, and she didn't want him to see? Head high and impassive, ears flicking forward, he listened to what she had to say. She didn't sound entirely prepared for the question, but came up with something quickly enough, and towards the end of her speech a dark laugh had slipped from his maw and he was shaking his head, white mane rattling against his arched neck. "Only if you want to," he responded, as if mildly amused by her.. attempt to leave? Or was it that she was just trying to be courteous, as he'd maybe given off the impression of starting to lose his patience? And if so—good instinct. You didn't want to be around if Mauja lost his temper.

He breathed out slowly, thoughtfully. Not that he was known for losing it... "There isn't much reason to such a madness. It's part structure, part fear—as much of the unknown as of being worthless yourself. As there is no logic to it..." He shrugged. "It's hard to understand. It's not really about the physical difference, as something you can.. ally for. You belong somewhere, and you cling to it, desperately, and to feel worth something you belittle those who can't belong with you. Some are just misguided, and some are willfully blind." Like I was. I knew what I was doing and I did it anyway, eyes closed and leaping off the ledge, praying I wouldn't fall to my death. "It is better to show them kindness, to try and help them. Few are evil.. though many certainly seem to think so." Would she notice how he said them, and not us? The words, I'm not like that anymore died upon his tongue, turned to dust, lifeless and wing-clipped. It would be so much easier if she came to the conclusion herself—asked, anything but him taking that step off the edge and falling into something he could never back out of.

A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way.