The rhythm of a four-beat walk was soothing, eased his mind away from the trouble and the dark thoughts. Despite his inclination to wonder what a "normal day" was like for a "normal horse", he didn't want to stop and ask someone to find out. He rather wanted it like a blinding light of revelation, an angel chorus in his head and their divine song when his rambling mind finally nailed the meaning of life... But of course, no such thing was going to happen—and in all honesty, he didn't expect it to, either. It would just be convenient, fascinating, and, most of all, enlightening (no shit, his mind filled in, because Irma wasn't awake to tell him that). He snorted to himself. He was probably too far from your average Helovian to ever know what it was like in their minds, and despite his proximity to another horse, he still didn't want to go ask them what went on in their heads, what they dreamed of, and what they wanted to become.

Why, though, he wasn't sure. Normally he was so curious, soaking up every thing he heard and mulling over it, but since his return he'd been oddly reclusive, preferring to stay out of the way with only his owl for long-term company. And conversation with strangers? He wasn't sure he wanted that either, and on the whole, it was.. surprising. He frowned slightly, kept weaving through the trees, paying little attention to the bathing beauty. She was fleeing the scene anyway, and for a merest moment he glanced at her; she was beautiful, caught in the lake with the bright sunlight touching her locks. His heart ached for a second. With a horn and some red, she could've been Ophelia.

But she wasn't. He turned away, but heard a splash; Irma's eyes snapped wide open, head spinning on her shoulders, and they were both looking at the white mare. She'd fallen, for some reason. He could see the indents where she'd tried to climb out the muddy bank, but now she was splayed on her side in the water, graceless and with an edge of terror to her motions. He felt oddly detached as he watched her flail, rooted at the spot—some part of him was willing to simply walk away, and leave her to her demise. But she called out, as if begging for his help, and his slight frown turned into a scowl. A year ago, how would he have reacted? Would he have gone over there, pierced her heart because he could? Killed another hornless, the opportunistic predator coming out to feast?

He honestly wasn't sure he would've. Nor was he sure he could walk away, and leave someone to tell the tale of the heartless king, but—he felt no real inclination to save anyone. Not today. Not ever, maybe; he'd done enough of the saving to last a lifetime.

He wanted the trust, but not the spotlight.

Grinding his teeth together Mauja stepped into the waters, long mane and tail floating upon its glassy surface. Irma closed her eyes again. Gracefully and feeling his way over Mauja waded through the shallow pool, and finally came to stand by her fallen form. His gaze was solemn, and he sighed faintly as he looked down upon her. "What's the matter?" he asked in a low voice. Obviously something had gone wrong if she couldn't get up on her own; the ground was muddy and loose, but standing on it he judged she should be able to get up on all four despite that. So what was it? Or was she just playing the damsel in distress to get the handsome gent to come over and check on her?

Somehow, he doubted it. And if she was.. well, he didn't even want to think about that.