heart-blind;

The air whispered as it blew past his face, tugging at his long, pale hair as it did so. He wasn't sure if it was soothing, or simply heart-breaking. Maybe a little bit of both. Now that he was caught out in the open, alone with it, he had nothing else to distract himself with. Ever since his return he'd been spiraling into some kind of madness, too frightened by the challenge he'd laid for himself to be able to face it down. Instead, he twisted himself into knots and tied up the sack of his emotions, smothered himself mentally just to keep calm—and sane. Always, always, something to keep him occupied, whether it be woe, the presence of another, traveling, or just being numb, apathetic.

But not now.
Now, it was only him and the sky, the murmur of the nearby brook and the touch of autumn sunlight—him, the sky, the world, and the wind. It was gentle, teasing only enough warmth from his thick coat, touching him with kindness.. and with bittersweet memories. His brother had left a hole in his heart, in his life, when he'd gone back north. How long had they known each other? What magic had he played on Mauja, to make him give his trust, the one thing he had always kept to himself, so readily? It wasn't only his impeccable timing in saving Mauja's life earlier that year; there had to be more to it.

Breathing out a heartfelt sigh Mauja closed his eyes, and let the wind stroke the tears from his lashes. Maybe it was because it wasn't only him trusting. Maybe it was because Sarazheha, the revered, isolated poor fool, had needed Mauja, just as Mauja needed him. Maybe it was because he'd seen the spark of life slowly go out again when they separated.

Maybe it was because all this time, he had needed someone to tell him that it was okay.

If only the yawning void within could span the actual distance between their hearts. Quietly he sighed again. He had to.. do things. Certain things. Before his time ran out completely, or his brother had the chance to visit again and find him in the same, sorry state. Blinking viciously Mauja tried to clear his eyes, but the emotion clung to his soul like a tick, refusing to let go. Somewhere in the blue sky above, Irma gave a hoarse cry; she agreed. She agreed that he needed to get off his ass and haul himself north, to find the ones that mattered the most to him.

To find Ophelia.
Soon, he promised, and began to walk south, telling them both he needed time to prepare, to come to terms with himself, life, the stars and whatever else he could blame his dallying on. He couldn't, for the life of him, have explained why it terrified him so much to go find them. He only knew that it did. Ignoring Irma's defeated reprimand he kept going, coming closer to a few, lonely elm trees out there on the vast meadow.

heart-blind;

The wind kept touching him as he moved, gentle and pleasant, stroking his white hair from his face. What he had now were memories, memories of things he dared not label for fear of being wrong—of ruining those few, precious moments he had collected within his mind. They were but pale imitations of life, but he was not entirely stupid: he knew he'd been gone. That he'd disappeared, again, without a word. No matter how much he wished for understanding, and forgiveness, he knew it was unlikely. It was seldom that those romantic, fairytale endings played out, and in the face of.. of anger, of maybe having destroyed all the things which had barely begun to take root—in the face of that, maybe it was better to keep the memories, and never know the pain of the terrible reality.. or the pain of being wrong, of having misunderstood everything.

He could never do that, though. Too many chances and opportunities had slipped through his hooves without him even trying to grip them and hold on, but if he disappeared again, lived his life to the end knowing he never took this chance.. he'd never be able to forgive himself.

He didn't know when he'd gone from trying to deny it, to almost admitting it; to hoping, wishing, praying even, that it wasn't only his heart beating that painfully fast and hard.

Something disentangled itself from the elm trees. It was a black-and-white shape, which he found oddly fitting and humorous. The two recurring colors in his life, opposites, clashing forces, good and bad—too bad the world was all gray. And, truthfully, he was glad for the distraction. It let him shove his thoughts back beneath the surface, black-rimmed ears flipping forward to listen. She was actually coming his way. Somehow, it surprised him, and once he'd convinced himself that she really was trotting his way, he tilted his head slightly to the side. He probably didn't look as unapproachable and burdened as he felt. He never really did. Always under lock and key. Always that marble statue, smiling and guarding his secrets as well as any dragon guarded its treasures. Frigid and warm.

He'd stopped moving, to wait for her instead, and at what was an average distance between two complete strangers she, too, stopped, and nodded her head. She was smiling, and he recalled smiling at strangers too. Cautiously, almost shyly, he dared to again; a twitch of his dark lips, curling into a hesitant shadow of the small smile he'd often worn in the past. The dip of his head was more confident, and as his head was lowered, he took a moment to close his eyes. Inhale. Brine. Wind-whipped pines. The Edge. Everyone is from the Edge these days. Exhale. His heart was pounding again, what now? He wasn't afraid of a smiling woman, now, was he? Or was he just afraid of himself again? “Hello friend!” He tugged his head up again, opening his eyes. Her forehead was bare.

It didn't matter. Not anymore.

She confirmed what he knew already—that she was from the Edge. Glazier, even. Had they ever had a reliable glass-worker when he'd ruled there? He couldn't remember anymore. Maybe that meant that they hadn't. Because otherwise.. he would've remembered, right? "A pleasure meeting you, Kahlua. I am Mauja, of nowhere."

Since I left it all behind.

heart-blind;

Perhaps he was just used to meeting horses that called no particular region their home. Perhaps it was just that he found nothing strange about not living anyplace, or with steady company—or just because he'd never been terribly bothered by having no physical company. But whatever the case, her words, her voice, her open eyes, surprised him. He felt his heart quieten in contemplation, his own eyes softening, smile fading slightly. Should he be lonely? Was it strange, that he felt fine on his own? Or, at least not mad? Even when he'd lived within the Edge, and Basin, surrounded by the loyalists of the Plague and the herds, he'd kept to himself in a way, a distance in his heart and mind. Holding the world at an arm's length to make sure no knives could reach his heart. His 'brows drew together over his eyes. "I..." he began, but found no words to complete the sentence, and sighed instead. He had a few friends, at least one stalwart despite his own problems. If he just donned the mask and trekked up north, he probably had a home, too.

Hollow comforts, when you've lost faith. "No," he finally admitted, watching her as she looked skywards. "There's no place I can go, really." His voice was quiet, weary; it was all his own fault, but he wasn't going to weep about it. He wouldn't let the bitterness come in again, to taint his world and blacken his blood with its sour taste. He wanted to be past the point of drowning himself in it, and in his self-pity. But to really make it past, he needed to find his strength again.

“Is it yours?” "Huh?" Her eyes had come down from the sky again, and, frowning, Mauja turned to look the way she had. Blue, blue, blue, Irma.. oh. “Good-looking,” she said, and Mauja chuckled. It felt..alien. There hadn't been much to laugh about lately. "I think a more proper way to put it would be that I am hers," he said, voice low but with an eddy of warmth underneath. Come down? he suggested. Irma held her white wings steadily out a moment longer, almost as if contemplating if it was worth it—but it wasn't like she could hunt at daytime anyway, and she did like being complimented. Deftly she folded her wings, and dropped out of the blue, arrowing towards the monochromatic pair. Mauja felt the echo of her thrill, the cold rush of wind against her feathered face.. the ground approaching so rapidly, and somehow she still saw every nuance and detail of it.

It sent a shiver through him. For a brief moment, he nearly envied the Pegasi their wings.

Then Irma was flaring hers, the mad dive ended as she glided a few yards above the purple sea of thistles. Her wings stirred the air against his sides as she balanced in the air, talons reaching out for his scarred withers; she grasped his body, little pinpricks of red flecking the tips as she broke his skin again. It hurt. It always did, the brief sting of a needle—momentarily intense, but quickly forgotten. It was familiar, comfortable even, and things felt right again, with her there by his side (or, on him, rather). "Her name is Irma," he offered to the kind mare, and the owl stared at her, icy of eye and heart.

heart-blind;

Was this what it was like to be normal? Like he'd been before? Bereft of bitterness, and loathing? To simply smile, laugh a little, with someone else—her voice was light, tinkling like water and silver bells. Even while he'd schemed during his days in the Edge, he had not been morose, or lost, or.. unhappy. He'd been content, for a while, pleasant and polite and doing his best to overturn the rumors of their wicked politics. A losing battle, but one he'd enjoyed, even though it had been frustrating.

But what came back the most to him, was that he'd been smiling. Laughing. He envied the lightness of her voice, the way it seemed to flutter out of her throat with barely any prompting at all, while his own body seemed to have forgotten what it was like. Still, if he'd spent years trying to wake up, and seal the scars on his heart, perhaps he wasn't awake yet—and maybe it would get easier, with time, if only he didn't forget how to do it again. Yes. He'd like that. To feel alive again, no matter where his hooves strayed and what his mind dreamed. With the sun on his back, Irma on his shoulder.. it felt like a step, no, a leap, in the right direction, and his small smile returned, stronger.

Kahlua seemed sweetly entranced with Irma, smiling at the owl, who returned the attention with her impassive gaze. He almost felt a bit bad for the kind mare, but Irma was of the opinion that she had been generous enough just by coming down. She'd never cared overly much for the other equines in his life, anyway. It was part of her charm, he guessed, and was just about to apologize on behalf of his stone-of-an-owl (though why, he couldn't know; it just felt right, somewhere in the region of his heart) when she spoke again. A bit hesitant, as if unsure of how he'd react. “You could come home with me, you know... if you wanted.” It was just barely he stopped himself from sorrowfully saying, Oh, Kahlua... Instead, he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, and forced his face to remain smooth, and calm, to not betray the sudden storm within; it felt like someone had ripped his heart out and thrown it into the glaciers.

She had no clue. She had no clue who he was, what he'd done. His heart ached for the simplicity of her words, of the chance to walk the Edge again... “Its safe. I- We have a wall! You could see it!” It seemed the Plague had left a lasting mark on Helovia—walls, walls, walls. Where they all so afraid of the big bad unicorns?

He shoved those thoughts aside, mind picking up speed. He hated decisions. He hated having to make them on the spot, when his will pulled in different directions. She was so innocent, offering a home to a beaten-down wanderer, without knowing that he was the wolf in the sheep's clothing; and damn, part of him just wanted to lay down his arms and whisper yes. But how could he? Walls could not keep him safe when the ones who meant him harm lived within. Last he'd heard, Mirage had wanted him on a trial for Torasin's death, something he expected would just be a sham to call for an execution.

And that other, darker part whispered take the chance, grab them by the throat and bite down—d'Artagnan would've shoved him off a ledge without hesitation if he'd known that Mauja hesitated to abuse an unsuspecting equine. It wasn't a sobering thought; it was a painful thought of how he'd managed to expertly trap himself between hungry beasts of different natures. His time was running out, anyway, but what should he say? Oh, I'm sorry Kahlua, I don't think that's a good idea because I happened to kill your last Doctor, Torasin, and it didn't sit very well with Mirage when she figured it out? Hardly soothing. He swallowed again. His mouth was dry. "I would like that," he began quietly, voice sober, slow, weighing each word. He doubted they'd let him stay anyway, knowing who he was; would bringing him turn part of the blame on Kahlua? Would she blame herself?

Could he do it to her?
That was, perhaps, the one thing it all balanced upon; how heartless was he? How curious, bold, stupid?

"But..." He drew his 'brows together. Breathe. His heart was pounding; say too little and you might hurt her, say too much and you blow it already. He couldn't even tell why his spirit was shaking, or from what; excitement, at having something to do, or fear, of the outcome? How stupid was he, if he wanted to walk into the wolf's mouth? For all he knew, they wanted him dead. "But, if the rest of your herd doesn't want me, don't blame yourself, hm?" he finally said in the end. He couldn't let her go entirely unprepared into this.