It was spectacular. There was no other thing he could call it, that fleet-footed moonlit chase on the tranquil beach. Like liquid light he flowed across the hard-packed sand, agile and regal where the black beast was lumbering and unsteady; calm and composed like nothing else compared to the bucking, hopping spitfire of a mare. She'd yelled a couple of names and was keeping ahead of them, her hooves flying towards Tiny in a rather obvious manner. For a moment, it certainly felt like a "we" against her, black and white on her tail like a dog snapping at the sheep's haunch... But, oh; as the mischievous grin etched itself on his otherwise serene face, Mauja knew that there was no us. There were only three wolves and no packs.

Tiny was surprisingly bony and warm. Black skin stretched taut over muscle and skeleton, with not enough fat in-between. Then, he was tumbling towards the sea, expertly flopping down in the spray of water and wave. Mauja veered away, high-kneed with childish elation. It should be impossible to tackle a horse of Tiny's stature into the waves with a simple, light touch! But alas, the black beast had fallen to his side, and was none too happy about it. A grin was etched upon Mauja's face as he danced back onto dry sand. How was this mad, midnight escapade possible? How could the three of them exist within the same time and space without accidentally blowing something up? They were outlandish in their own ways, antipolar extremes. Three opposing forces and somehow the balance held sway.

Maybe, by now, the downed stallion would realize that there was no us on this desolate piece of beach—but, no. As Mauja was watching the cumbersome creature lying dumb on his side, awkwardly gazing about, he proceeded to call Mauja a dimwit and try to set him on the one mare. He took it with a grain of salt. Perhaps Tiny was the dimwit for not realizing that Mauja wasn't on anybody's side? That he was just here because he happened to walk past and they decided to get him involved? Though, he had to admit: it was a lot more fun than he'd anticipated. Between the mare's, still unnamed, antics in the waterline, and Tiny's spectacular instability, it had surpassed most things he'd previously experienced. And in his nearly nine years of life, that was to say, quite a lot. Not that it was going to get boring. Whatever astral being had guided their hooves there tonight wasn't done with them.

Another crackle of static, and the mare disappeared from where she was floundering deeper into the sea—and reappeared somewhere in the vicinity of Mauja's ass. Which, given the fact that she was careening towards him at a high speed, of course amused Tiny. Man Spots? Technically, this time he'd not mind vamoosing to get away from the awkward tangle of legs that was about to happen.. but... If someone was up there, watching their spectacular night, they were probably dumbstruck with the incredulity of all it all. Mauja knew that he almost was, anyway. For the mare, thick as she was, easily smashed into his nearest hock; he stumbled sideways, wondering if she'd decided to die on him, because her weight easily forced him sideways and down. Sand wasn't his forte, either.

Suddenly, he stopped caring. The air in his lungs and the blood in his veins grew cold. The last rays of starlight traced the wet, beautiful arc of dolphin backs glittering far out at sea.

His hind legs had folded neatly in a mimicry of Tiny, white ass parked in the sand and distant, blue eyes somewhere else. His heart was hammering. Not even adrenaline could get him to his feet—he just felt sick. Sick, and terrible, and disbelieving. Their insane frolicking had been interrupted.. horribly interrupted... It stretched out across the horizon, a dark sludge covering the perfectly sapphire surface. With each movement of the sea it came a little closer, closer, closer... Fear parched his throat, dried out his mouth, stole the words from his tongue. For a few, precious seconds he sat paralyzed on the beach, watching doom approach.

"Am I the only one who thinks that hightailing out of here is an excellent idea?" he suddenly asked of no one in particular. The detachment in his voice was testament to how deeply shaken he was. He couldn't put his hoof on it—he'd been through the blackness, hadn't he? A fiery, hellish summer? Wars? Yet here was something to shake him to his very core, to whisper fear in his blood even as he tried to gripe with it, and battle it. Curiosity be damned; he didn't want to be here when the thick, inky waters would lap against the shore and turn it gray. His eyes settled on Tiny. Was he still lying in the shallows?