if the walls were too thin you would break right in

It was nice to, for once, not feel terrified of the world. When had he grown so shaken that almost any encounter sent his alarms ringing and mind reeling? But on that particular day, he simply felt calm, if a bit bewildered by her behavior. Unless she'd explode into raging flames and scorch both him and the woods, he felt sure he'd be able to handle her. Besides, she mostly seemed.. weird, and not threatening. Her eyes were a bit unnerving still, but even that surprise was fading, leaving him feeling quite content. Perhaps he'd been living in the wolf's mouth for far too long, walking on broken glass and eggshells—not everything had to be wicked. Sometimes, you could just find yourself in a forest with a young, curious girl, albeit an odd one.

The two sets of matching pale blue eyes kept watching her as she seemed to think on his question, before answering in a manner he hadn't quite expected. To her credit, she didn't bolt, but Mauja let a small frown slip through his control and onto his body. It wasn't the kind of answer he'd expected. He'd been wondering why she was slipping through the forest and outright gawking at him, but what he got instead seemed somewhere half between fishing for pity, and also somewhat..brusque? in her dismissal of herself. In his experience, mentioning that your past was "a sob story" meant that you wanted a leading question, just so you could expand, get some comfort and pity while remaining in your hole.

But somehow, it didn't quite seem like she wanted that. She was too calm, moved on too quickly, and gave him a face that made him think she detested having him in this forest. One ear flicked back. He almost wanted to chide her for the expression, but her lip came down again. "I wanted to see the red pool again," he simply answered, as calm and immovable as the glaciers themselves. "I was here two years ago." As the words left his mouth his thoughts and heart grew quiet. Had it been so long since he met the strange October, and the wary Couth? Two years? He suddenly felt incredibly old. Had this young mare even been born then?

She went on talking—and again, he looked at her blankly. Trying to start a group? What for? And another part of him said of course it's not working, you're too disorganized and strange. Slowly he began frowning again. It had almost sounded like a question, a plea for an answer, as if he somehow would know why she was failing at the task she'd set before herself. She had cocked her head, looked at him for a reply, maybe some kind of revelation. "Mauja," he offered with a slight shrug of his snowy shoulders, Irma firming her grip on him as he did so. "As for your group..." I can't believe I'm playing the therapist here. "What is its purpose? Goals, dreams, ambitions? Creeds? Have you reached out to any?" Part of him was genuinely curious, the spider at the center of the web rearing its head and wanting to climb back into place—to know it all. Knowledge is power, but also satisfying in a way he couldn't describe.. even if it was nothing more exciting than a young girl's search for adventure and company.