if the walls were too thin you would break right in

The worlds forgotten, the words forbidden...

Well, if she felt awkward talking to someone who hadn't been here since before she was born.. if she felt that way, she didn't show it. In a way it was a relief, to not have the contrast brought further to light—not because he minded (not yet, at least), but because.. well.. he couldn't quite put his hoof on why. Maybe he was just having a mid-life crisis and was relieved it wasn't pointed out how old he was getting? By the start of winter he'd be, what, nine? Nine. He shook his head slowly to himself. It wasn't that much, really, but if he looked at the life he'd lived, it seemed he was about halfway. Halfway to death. He gritted his teeth. That was, definitely, the wrong way to think about life.

"Do you know why is it red?" It wasn't actually red—not the water, at least. He remembered the clear liquid dripping from the jaws of one of the mares, though he couldn't recall which. It had tried to cling to its bloody color, sort of as if the memory colored its very core. It hadn't looked diluted, pink like blood in the water, but more like.. faded. "Mmh," he hummed, and actually moved a couple of steps away from her, back into the open clearing. Like a drop of god's blood the pool lay at the fir's base, vibrantly red despite the murky air of the forest. "The water is clear, actually. It's just reflecting through the stones, but why they are red I have no idea." It felt a bit strange talking to someone when you both faced the same direction, and he swung his hips slightly to the side, to better see her.

And maybe, just maybe, he regretted that he had.

She wore a soft smile, but there was something about it—something lurking along the edges, like predators smiling to show just enough fang at their prey.. something that was out of place on her young face, something that seemed to suggest things he never wanted to be in close contact with again. He felt his jaws stiffen, eyes growing guarded. Maybe he was wrong, though? Maybe he was just making things up.. maybe he always needed something to throw him off? No; he bit down on his own teeth harder. He needed stability. Stability within himself.

But more and more it seemed he wasn't making it up. Her voice had adopted a mysterious quality, soft, as if trying to lure him in with her half-veiled mysterious.

He didn't like it.

His ears canted back a fraction. Here he was, being all nice and curious, and instead of taking his advice seriously she started..fooling around. Because that was all it was: fooling around. Mauja had been dragged along in the wake of these female rampages too many times before, and he didn't want a part in it anymore—least of all with someone who was young enough to be his granddaughter (nevermind that the same was true of Ophelia). And if she tried to recruit all her members this way.. and by that, he meant the way her milk-and-honey eyes were tracing the contours of his backside.. it was no surprise her efforts had been in vain. It just might blow up in your face again he thought sourly, flicking his tail warningly. He wasn't interested in games. Or in silly mares. Or in girls pretending to be women of power, when all they were were daydreamers.

"Mauja, what are you doing?"

There were a great many things he could be doing: visiting the goddamn pool, for one. Being given uncomfortable attention from a girl was another. Or about to blow up in her face. A lot of things, really, and he brought his head up higher, ears falling back against his neck. "I'm disapproving of your behavior," he told her with a snort, eyes cold and flat. "That's what I'm doing."