blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires

There were a lot of things he'd done in his life that could be considered bad. He had secrets he'd never breathed, even in a whisper, questions he refused to answer no matter who asked; dark deeds he'd left in his snowy wake, schemes engineered by himself or others. Up until a year or two ago, he'd done nothing aimlessly, always a piece of some grand master plan—but then he'd torn loose from his mooring, and now, he was adrift. But even while lost, he could not forget, and it seemed bitterly ironic that the one thing they wanted him for, was the one thing he hadn't meant to do. Compared to his past, he'd been incredibly tame while in Helovia, and yet there he stood, tangled up in a mess he'd never meant to get tangled up in. And he was tangling someone else up with him. Whenever he'd looked at her face he'd seen her budding confusion, as if she couldn't comprehend where this was going. Was she beginning to sense that it wasn't a stray lap dog she'd brought home, but a wolf? Something so much wilder, and sharp-toothed?

And for all his ruggedness, for all his wintery hunger, his blue eyes were full of gentleness and pain. He hated doing this to her—he hated doing this to anyone, because it was a sharp reminder of what had transpired in the Deep Forest that fateful day.

But least of all did he want to do this to someone who had shown him nothing but enthusiastic kindness; an open face, an open heart. Compared to her, he was a monster, regardless of his guilt, or lack thereof.

“Oh, no, they're very nice,” she was saying, leaping to the defense of her beloved herd, just as one of them materialized out of the sparse mists here on the slopes; Hellena. Mauja's last words slipped from his mouth, a certain sense of doom clinging to them as the pale, frail mare inclined her head in greeting. He barely saw it. His mind was somewhere else, seeing only the Sun God's wrath as it wrecked their clifftop home, and flung her spindly, defenseless form through the air. She'd taken off in a blind run after that.

He'd been able to do nothing to save her that time, and now she stood there, watching him with her ancient, mysterious eyes. Mauja's closed, his face a calm mask despite the pounding of his heart. Slowly he inclined his head, tasting the silence, wishing it would break sooner—not that it lasted very long anyway, but he'd set the ball in motion. After all his caution, his desperate attempt to give nothing away, they'd found out anyway; and then, this. He'd turned around and flung himself off the beaten path, eyes closed, praying to land softly. As if, his mind whispered softly, and Irma flew high above in the sky. He could feel her tension. She was ready to bolt.

"Why would they think that, Mauja?" His eyes opened again, and for a moment he simply looked at her; she was the Seer of this herd, wasn't she? Midas had so boldly stated his orders, yet this mare seemed to not know of it—or was she just dancing the same dance as he did, loathe to let anyone know what was in their minds? Perhaps she did know, and simply chose to pretend not to, in order to see what he had to say. “But if you know what happened why don't you just tell them?” Because it includes admitting to punching an ice spike through him.. on accident. Kahlua went on, her face having gone from terrified (which had sent a stab through his trembling heart) to hopeful; bright-eyed where his were getting dull. He was trapped, trapped between a keen-minded mystic and an innocent woman-girl. Trapped, and he'd done it all by himself. And how could he worm out of this? How could he possibly explain? And explain his lack of faith in this nest of hypocritical liars?

He had to take it one step at a time, start somewhere, untangle it; his eyes drifted to Hellena, voice subdued but steady. "Because it came to my attention that I was wanted, by the Edge, for his death," he began, speaking slowly and weighing each word; it wasn't so easy, that he could just bellow the truth at the skies, because the truth danced a damn fine line. It all came down the definition of words, actions, intents. "As for why I do not simply 'tell them'... This herd and I go back a long way, Kahlua. I do not trust them to believe me; I doubt I am very innocent in their eyes." His voice had grown mellower as he turned his eyes to Kahlua. There was no way to say it, no way to put it that didn't include stammering and changing what he was saying—no real way to explain that the Edge tried to blame him for a lot of things his herd had done (namely, the murder of Solstice). No easy way to explain what he'd been, what he'd done, and how a lot of things had happened, to the point where Mauja felt incredibly uncomfortable about placing his life in their hands. He drew a deep breath, ears falling back again; this time, they did not clench against his neck, though.

"And the truth of things.. is so fickle... would a prejudiced heart listen to the faint voice of reason, or simply twist the ill-defined words into what it wants to hear..? And act upon that predetermined opinion..? I followed here on a whim, but I do not stand here lightly—the truth is.. in their eyes, perhaps, not truth, and the fine line of definition meaningless; blurred..." He was rambling. He was almost mumbling, voice so soft and quiet, tongue and soul seeking words that were never meant to be spoken; some things are mere concept, too hard to put into words to have them make sense, be coherent and, whole. He swallowed, spirit quivering in its mortal house, and quelled the flood of black bitterness. It had not helped him, ever, and would not now. Bitterness just led to self-pity, and it was the last thing he needed. Gritting his teeth, Mauja steeled himself, pulled his disintegrating self together.

"The truth is.. that Torasin died because of me," or was that even the truth? Or was it because of Kiba? Or because of whatever idiot had set him on fire during the Qian invasion? Or.. because of.. how far back could you trace a reflex, a fear? "- but I didn't murder him."

It all came down to definition, and in the end, there was no easy way to say I killed him, but I didn't mean to.