Here we go again.

Night-time. Moonlight. Autumn air; the quiet whisper of water over pale, pale sands. He'd been here a million times before, the same old setting, same old heart beating the same old blood around icy veins. Heartless—no. Clearly, something beat in there, for he, too, bled if you split his skin. Or if he bit himself in the mouth. It was the same old sand shuffling over to his graceful steps, and sticking in his feathers, and up his legs, somehow working its way to the thin, tender skin of his joints.

He was used to it, though. The beach had become somewhat of a regular haunt of his as he stalled in the south, waiting for the teeth of winter to come—and his own courage. Still, sometimes he wondered why he didn't move around more. He'd never been that much of a water horse, preferring it in its frozen states, and the sight of the large moon reflected on the waves didn't do much to soothe him either. This place was composed out of many elements he wasn't overly fond of, and yet he kept coming back time and again, to simply pace along the coast and listen to his heart pounding away. It gave him nothing but a heart-wrenching view and too much time to contemplate things he wasn't particularly interested in contemplating anymore. Hadn't he brooded enough by now? Hadn't he already decide to move forward?

So why did he keep returning to the sea, wondering what to do with himself and his life?

Abruptly he ground to a halt as moonlight washed across a figure in the distance, an interesting blend of reflective white and darker parts. There was too much salt to smell it, so instead he sighed, and picked up his pace again. He wasn't the only one who came to the beach, for one reason or another, but Mauja was a wary creature—now more so than ever. There were those he did not wish to run into, at all, and some he desperately wanted to run into..but not before he was ready. Which, frankly, he knew was never going to happen. It'd be better to just get it over and done with.

He wasn't the only one approaching the bright speck on the horizon. A larger, bulkier shape was wobbling across the sands—at least, with the distance and awkward lighting he seemed to waver slightly. Determined all the same, though, and Mauja flicked his ears forward. Still no smells. Too far away.

He kept going. They became clearer; the big black stallion said something, but it was lost between the distance. The smaller horse was bulky, too, but not as tall. She had a ridiculously short mane and tail, but two long strands coming down the sides of her face like some kind of insect. Mauja flicked his tail. He didn't recognize either of them, nor their smells—outcasts, he assumed. Silently he kept approaching, wondering if he could just.. slip past them, or if they'd exhibit the strange Helovian habit of striking up conversation with nearly every strangers you met.