[ since this thread is old, I guess a move to the Shadowlands so we can complete it is in order? ]

It seemed that the sunlight and gentle blowing wind had stolen all hotheaded anger out of them, taken it up in its peaceful dance and stolen away, leaving little trace of it. Mauja's blood was cold once more, a slow, red trickle through old veins; his soul that plain of snow, lit by the pale winter sun, where nothing stirred. Where no black anger reared its ugly head. Even his voice was like that, reminiscent of the blend of snow and sun—as if he had all the patience in the world, all the time in the world, to stand there and ask her little questions and drink in the answers. Grow wiser. And in a way, he had. He wasn't going anywhere. He had nowhere to go. Nothing important to do. And in that sense, he was oddly honest. Oddly honestly calm. After having lived so long with his pulse pounding and just barely pulling his haunches away from the snapping destruction, it was strange.

Strange meets strange and it was fitting. She still didn't speak straightly, not exactly as if playing with him, but more like.. like she didn't know how to simply answer. It amused him a little. Why would he ask, if he didn't want to know more? Just to be able to put her down by saying he didn't care about "stupid little girls"? No; that wasn't his game. He'd never been cruel in those ways.. somehow, he had a notion he'd been a kind of good person his entire life.. depending on how you viewed things, of course. But, he thought with a slight smile curving his lips, it seemed like if he but asked, she would answer now; at least, if her words were honest. Her dainty muzzle reached out, like another shaft of sunlight in the forest. While her eyes were still warm, they didn't study him quite that way anymore. Besides, he'd made his point incredibly clear, hadn't he? So, if any of the world's logic still was sound...

Mauja's considerably larger head stretched forward, too, sunlight rippling over his white neck. Not that he had time to formulate, much less ask, any useful question before she cut in again; whispering, almost, soft as if afraid to stir some kind of beast.. or afraid of the answer? But she didn't seem afraid. Maybe it was just another quirk, to add some kind of suspense, there between the dark, looming trees. Still, if she wanted juicy tales of dark necromantic cults, he'd have to disappoint. He shook his head. "I'm a lone wolf," he replied, the small smile curving into his crooked grin for a moment. It was as much truth as he could put into words without going haywire—could he say that he sided with no-one? Supported no-one? If the Edge came hammering at the Basin and he knew of it, could he let those thieves try to steal more things they had no right to, and not defend the place where the majority of his family and friends resided? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he needed some distance, some clarity, to not live in their midst and breathe their corrupt ideals and fuel the fires he'd helped start...

"So, your group.. what's your ambition?" Dark voice fell from dark lips, quiet and thoughtful; just another secretive murmur in this secretive place, and his blue eyes lit up with something—a mystery, simple knowledge, a little bit of insight in another's world... all things which he prized, things that made him feel alive, as he stored whatever tales he was told deep within his mind. What did she dream of?