"Honestly, Mauja," but there's no honesty here. His dreamy eyes were focused upon the pool a moment longer, taking in the red-ripples and the reflection of the mighty tree. The beginning of her words had almost had him thinking she'd berate him for something, but instead she proposed a rather interesting theory—and sounded dead-serious about it. A slight frown creased his 'brows. It didn't smell of blood, and, anyway.. wouldn't the color wash away, if it lay in water? Dilute, disappear? Unless someone died often enough... The sinister claw-marks on the ancient trees, their old wounds; and now this odd girl whispering of blood imprinting on stone and coloring them red. It was good enough of a story, with just enough backbone, to send a slight shiver down his spine, but at her question it turned into a snort. Frightened? Bah, no. He was on the lookout for giant wolves, and terrified of meeting Ophelia, but frightened of some unknown evil that, maybe, wanted to rip his heart out and bleed him out across the water? No. For that, he had no fear to spare, and simply shook his head, long mane waving against his neck.

"No," he answered her plainly, and said no more about it.

If he'd thought to put her off with this blatant show of disapproval, he was, sort of, wrong. And, vaguely confused. With his life? What he was doing with his life? Did "being harassed by mares" qualify as an answer? And had no one ever taught her social interaction? Had she never had anyone to watch, to view how they interacted, deciphered the assumed meaning of phrases? He couldn't read her mind; when she spoke outside of the norm, he was lost, and he drew in a deep, quiet breath as she side-stepped him. It was tempting to simply leave her to her folly in the forest, but he'd never been good at doing the right—sane—thing. "Did you never stop to reflect on the fact that 'what are you doing' usually refers to the current situation, the current action, and not the bigger picture?" he asked her coolly, and turned to keep her in his sights. There was no reason to keep broadsiding her, anyway, and despite the fact that he wasn't sure he liked her, he was a bit curious still, about the workings of her mind. In a way her retort made sense—when he'd asked her what she was doing, referring to her slipping through the forest and ogling him from the shadows, she had responded as if he'd asked for her past, her life-story, her current goal.

And in that way, it made sense that it was that kind of answer she'd wanted from him. But that, was an answer that he was loathe to give strangers; though in this case, this particular time, he gladly would've shouted it at her face. Because if he could've shouted it at her, he would've known himself, and maybe wouldn't have been trapped in the dank, gray fog of confusion. He was lost, the compass needle pointing nowhere, heart full of anguish and mind battling itself. When it came down to it, what was he—wolf, or dog?

"I think you are just uptight." Uptight. Uptight. Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to cry, or scream, or—anything. Red-dreaming water dripped gracelessly from her dark lips, and his ears renewed their tense acquaintance with his thick neck. Uptight. The word lay ugly in his ears, and not even her gentle acceptance of him being different could make it otherwise. Blast it all; he didn't want to be uptight. He wanted to be loose and relaxed, quick of eye and mind, not.. not.. Uptight? Irma supplied mirthlessly. In a purely physical sense, even if he counted Ophelia out of the equation, Lotus and Keahi had stolen something from him, something he hadn't regained; and through his own sheer stupidity he'd just worsened it. For a moment it had all been his again, that dark night in the Basin with Faelene, but as always.. actions had consequences. And so, he'd walked that road down into the abyss and wasn't sure he'd ever be able to turn it around.

"I just don't like that kind of attention," he responded frankly through gritted teeth, blue eyes piercing her turned-away face. Honesty, brother? The world was a strange place when you had to defend yourself against the interests of a woman-child barely grown.

He was beginning to regret his curiosity. She was bafflingly, annoyingly, irrevocably weird, in a way that made him wonder if she was stupid. Or if she just didn't want to admit to being stupid. Or shove her stupidity over on him; she certainly did her best at that, looking at him intently and rolling her eyes as if he was the stupid one. Still unimpressed, his ears clenched tighter against his neck. Maybe it had entirely escaped her mighty notice, but if she wanted to know something in particular, the best way to get to know it was to ask for it, and not something else and then pretend he was the idiot for not understanding. And then refusing to acknowledge her own poor judgment. On the whole, it was very unimpressive, and his half-a-mind to just leave her was beginning to grow into more than just half a mind. He had nothing to gain by talking to idiot girls.

But alas, he was just about to learn that he still had somewhat a temper.

At his words she spun on the spot, face contorting into an angry, snarling mask, ears flat against her slender neck. For a moment Mauja just stared at her in bewilderment, wondering why expressing his lack of interest was such a criminal act, but her anger was contagious, and his eyes turned to blazing flint. "Or each time I have, it's just gone to hell!" he snarled at her; the hell, why did he have to be the one defending himself in this? Was it somehow his fault that he didn't want mares bothering him? Wasn't it enough that he'd barely avoided a disaster with Psyche, that his first-born daughter had run off when his son was born, and that Leyra had made him choose between a guilty conscience and promising her a child, or.. or.. damn, everything! Was it somehow his fault, so that he had to justify why he didn't want some half-grown mare running after his balls? Shouldn't she just be the one to accept that maybe every man didn't want her attention? His teeth were gritted and nostrils wide, but she went on and came up with some far-fetched tale and sort of hopped up into his face. Definitely in his personal space. Mauja pulled his head even higher and stared down at her with narrowed eyes.

"Well, are you gay?" she prompted, and even as all he did was stare he somehow spoke: "So what if I am?" The underlying currents of his temper remained around the edges of his voice, a lacing both hot and cold. And besides.. it wasn't even true, the implication of what he said, but frankly, he couldn't care less. So what if he told some random, ditzy girl that he was gay? It wasn't like he actually cared, anyway; just the idea of getting physical with anyone was enough to make his mind turn itself inside-out with terror, and if you only left emotions.. then what did it matter, as long as your hearts beat together? Love, that pesky emotion, was love, regardless. And his forays into love were few and far between, and definitely uncomfortable, and mind-wrenching, and just generally something he rather wished hadn't happened to him.

Some of his flame had burnt itself out, leaving him less volatile, but no less intent of protecting himself from this...weird, vexing mare. He pinned her with an icy stare. "But I wouldn't be interested in the attention of a half-grown stranger anyway," he added for good measure. You know, just in case she's got gender-switching magic up her sleeve.

He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. Somehow he'd been forced into a position where he had to defend himself, when all he'd asked was for her to stop trying. How was it so bad, to let her know he wasn't interested? That he didn't like the kind of attention she was trying to give him? She'd blown up in his face for no real reason, and by some divine calculation he couldn't for the life of him comprehend, he'd blown up, too. Mauja normally had little to no temper to speak of, just his own brand of arrogance and deathly-cold hunger—but not anger. When was the last time he'd raised his voice? When was the last time he'd actually felt like grinding someone's face into the dirt? Somehow, she brought out the worst in him, and it confounded him completely. Still, he felt justified that he wasn't the only bad guy, here. She was glaring at him just as much as he glared at her. "Maybe it's really not hell. Just fucking maybe, your making it hell for yourself and horses around you." So you're saying you want me to make it hell for you, too? He couldn't keep up with the twists and turns of her logic, or lack thereof. One moment she was going on like it was such a big deal, then when he responded, she went on as if he was making it into a big deal. Baffled, and thoroughly annoyed, he just stared at he quietly. Yeah, so what if he was gay? It wasn't like he had been the one who brought it up in the first place! It wasn't like he had been the one showing interest!

So when he told her that, that he didn't care to be flirted with, regardless of whoever it was, he certainly hit a sore spot. She erupted again, and Mauja's eyes took on a rather bewildered and frustrated cast, along with the anger. What the hell was wrong with this girl? "Half-grown stranger? Is that all you see me as?" What the hell else was he supposed to see her as? A donkey? She wasn't yet a mare grown. Fact. He didn't know her. Fact. In his mind, that equated to "half-grown stranger", but she kept going at him, voice going from its previous heat to cold. He knew that well. It probably meant that she was really getting upset with him. Well, damn. It's mutual. He couldn't recall anyone he'd gotten along with this badly in a long, long time.

"I'm sorry your life is hell, Mauja..." "Excuse me?" he slurred out, startled; she didn't know the first thing about his life. His life wasn't hell. His life was a fucking mess but he was okay with that—it always was a fucking mess, and he wasn't crying about it. (Just sometimes.) And the pity-party she'd kept in from before came tumbling out now, as she paced by the pool, revealing a lot more than she should've; about her past, her father, the tattoo. Mauja just stared at her. Whatever can of worms had he opened just by walking to this damn pool? What unfortunate power drew him here and then just smacked him on the nose? "You are wrong," he retorted. "I called you a half-grown stranger, because damn it Aurelia, you are. You're not even half my age and I don't know the first thing about you, so what else am I supposed to call you?" His anger had begun to recede, having run its course, but he didn't trust it to be gone yet.

"When you prompted me, I asked about your group; but instead of answering, you just brushed it off. I told-" with his body, but wasn't that what bodies were for? "-you to stop eying me that way, and you acted like I was wronging you. I'm damn well within my rights to ask someone to stop flirting with me, especially if it makes me damn uncomfortable! I just don't want you in my face that way, and you act like I'm pissing on you! I don't get it!" Damn, he was almost yelling at her again, but he was more tired and exasperated than furious. It sounded in his voice, too. "I asked about you, and your secretive little group! I was being nice! What the hell do you expect of me? Miracles? I can't read your mind, Aurelia!"

In the wake of his rambled ravings there was only silence, filling the spaces between the watchful trees (and the quieted birds), and the spaces between them, between their breaths and heartbeats. His sides were heaving, anger making his breathing rugged, and in judgmental silence he waited for her to either launch her counter-attack, or break down crying and run away or something. He tried to be ready for anything, because there was no consistency to her, no predictable pattern she followed. His eyes were quick, trailing from her wings, to her cheek, eyes, back again, roving the scenery around them, unwilling to let his anger blind him to the rest of the forest. But no matter how much he prepared himself for assault, he couldn't have prepared for what actually happened.

It was as if all the fight went out of her, eyes falling to the ground and voice nothing but a stutter, spitting out an awkward piece of truth: "I... Think you're han-dsome."

Mauja's eyes widened, the harshness of his face softening into incredulous surprise. She what? She thought he was handsome, and that..? Well, of course, it seemed illogical to flirt with someone you thought were ugly, and if it wasn't just a mannerism then yes, of course she'd be disappointed her intended victim wasn't interested, but.. was this some kind of justification? Explanation? Peace offering? Veiled attempt at flirting? Or just a piece of goddamn truth? But it wasn't enough with just that. The next words she forced out, when strung together, formed: but my god, I'm sorry. Mauja just kept staring at her, even a the wind ruffled his incredibly long, silken hair about his face. Had Helovia fallen under some kind of weirdness curse? First he was all mopey and ran into questionable individuals (also known by the name of Satanic Silk), a nightingale who took him for a trip to the underworld, he rescued a mare who'd gotten stuck in a freakin' pond, grew mad and almost killed some innocent pegasus girl, then he met two complete idiots on the beach, and now this.. okay, the beach encounter topped this in weirdness factor, but this was a pretty damn close second.

He blinked. Come back to life, come back to life... Hello, the world's calling. "Err," was the first thing he said, just staring at the girl's withers. And what, what in hell, do you respond to what he'd just been put through? Another stallion probably would've taken advantage of it, but it was an established fact that Mauja's mind was far from the gutter. "I'm.. sorry?" he finally blurted, oddly honest of voice. He'd got to yell just enough to get rid of the anger, and she'd definitely given him a metaphorical smack in the face—not really a bad thing, but enough to get him off the mayhem track. "Like, I am sorry, for you." He wasn't sure if she'd apologized for being an illogical little witch, or for thinking he was handsome; if it was the latter, she shouldn't have. Not really. But he didn't want to ask. But what he'd said was also true; he was sorry for her, because there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He'd just been frustrated, but unless she started up her crap again he should be fine.. right?

He found no more words to speak, unsure of what he could possibly say—or what he wanted to say. If he even needed to say something. Maybe she'd just take her crush and potential tears and go flee in teenage shame, to which he had no remedy, except growing up. And that'd take a couple of more years, if his own life experience was anything to go by. Hopefully, one day she'd think back on this and have enough distance to her past self to laugh (and laugh at the bewildered moron staring at her with a mixture of concern and confusion on his handsome face).

This is a dark place.

The voice, the thought, was Irma's, oddly clear in the rising and falling tide of their bond. They seldom spoke in literal words, shared more of a feeling, a concept, images and scents and ideas—but whenever she spoke in his mind, in his heart, it was like a draft of cold air, a faraway whisper gently stirring the dust. It sent a slight shiver down his spine. She smelled what he did as the wind blew through the darkening forest, its keening through hollow trees accompanied by a rotten, dark tang. Indeed, he replied, watching the distracting play of Aurelia's silver hair. The bark etched with symbols, the blood-red pool.. the smell of something dead and forgotten, a dark mystery. There were, certainly, better places to be, but strangely enough, he still wasn't afraid. Wary? Alert? Yes. But Mauja had long since learned to fear mortals, for they were the illogical, irrational beings who waged the most wars, and if the beasts of darkness waged wars, they seldom did it upon the mortals.

She was watching him, though less intensely, at the time of his blurted, odd apology. Everything about her seemed so at odds with itself; one moment she was begging for pity, for recognition, some kind of justification, and in the next, trying to shove it all back down the dark hole it came from. Don't be she said and Mauja tilted his head gently to one side, white forelock sliding off the broad bridge of his nose to hand down by his eye, a white veil between him and the world. He couldn't quite understand it. Did she want his pity, his attention, but knew it to be.. wrong? Childish, perhaps? And so fought against herself? "But I am," he said, gently, trying to find the words to match what he felt within. "Because right now, part of it is my fault, but nothing I can do anything about. And for that, I am sorry." Because it's all I can be.

[ this post wanted to be short. so it is. :3 ]

He wasn't sure what he'd landed himself in. At first it had just been another odd encounter (and those, you had plenty of in Helovia), which had quickly turned into somewhat of a mouth-fight, and just as quickly it had turned into.. this. Whatever "this" was. He'd never known himself to be quite so kind—if he tried to look back on himself.. if he truly dredged up the memories of his past self leading up to Mirage invading... He'd almost been deranged. Feral. Every action had been lined with that cold darkness, his face the stage for many expression yet few of them honest, or deep; he'd locked away his secrets but smiled, smiled at the world even as he stood poised to strike just behind it. Oh, when he'd been with his herd, or those he otherwise deemed companionable, he'd not been quite so cold, quite so cruel at heart.. but whenever the opportunity had presented itself, he'd taken it. He'd taken it and his charming little smile had simply intensified, eyes going wicked as all the warmth of sun-lit snow froze into midwinter's ice.

Coming back from the time rift, he'd sought the stability of glaciers, that icy mask once more, but somewhere along the line he'd forgotten just how wild he had been: how untamed, how heedless of rules. In the light he'd been nothing but a charming gentleman, if somewhat of a recluse, and in the veil of such they had never heard the snaps of rules breaking behind his back. Stress had worn him out, weighed him down, to the point where the only thing he remembered, and sought, was the frigidity, impenetrable walls to hide behind. And what am I now? Aurelia's eyes had fallen, only to rise again. Her tongue had been defeated into silence, but her gaze was warm. It unnerved him. It unnerved him, but he didn't show it, because wasn't that what Mauja did? Hid himself behind his wall and always did what he thought was best—for others? He didn't know whether it was noble or pathetic.

He waited for her to say something, and he waited in vain. Silence held between them, his reverie and revelations locked away behind blue irises. Here in their glade the air was both warm and light, yet the woods around him seemed to darken, mocking his eventual journey to leave them again. And still she said nothing, and he said nothing, and the seconds trickled by like curious, meaningless things. His head remained tilted, the edge of curiosity coming out again, nosy as ever about the secrets of others. Somehow he felt like the burden of saying something lay on him, an invisible weight against his shoulders trying to prompt his mind into finding something, anything, to say. Slowly, he tilted his head the other way instead, peering at her with his usual open expression, feigning a kind of honesty he knew wasn't there. "So.. if I ask about your group again.. will I get more of an answer this time?" he finally said, voice light, as if half-joking and expecting another rebuttal.