Kahlua

After appropriate celebrations with Kaj, Resplendence, Alysanne, Brisa, and anyone else that the girl could find, she was all but worn out. Who knew being queen was so much work. And her job had only just started. But she wasn't the Sunshower for nothing, and though she was exhausted, she still wore a smile. Besides, exhaustion or not, she never had to go back into those terrible caves again. She was free to walk about the world, free to explore without fear of turning into a wraith, free to know the sun's warmth on her back. She was free to escape the oppressive darkness and never go back to that terrible place again.

So the girl did the only thing she knew how to do- she headed home. It was just a trot at first, but eventually the trot gave way to a canter, and all the sudden the girl was running, the air blowing through her mane, the snow dampening the thud of her hooves upon the ground, but she was running nevertheless. She was flying, she was free. It was now a year since she came here, since she found this place. It seemed so much longer.

However, run as she might, fly as she tried, something kept nagging at her mind, poking and prodding, finding the little niches where it could hide and jabbing her even as she tried to be free. It was a promise she had made, a promise she was now in a better position to keep. A promise that she couldn't forget just because she had been blessed by Lady Moon. So the painted girl slowed, her smile turning to a frown, as she wondered how in the world she was ever going to keep this promise. Helovia was wide and with the snow covering the ground... travel could be delayed for quite some time. And surely he had left the caves. After all... even if he didn't mind staying there, surely his bird would want some freedom.

And yet... when she looked around, the land seemed so familiar. It wasn't until a cold wind blew against her that she was really reminded. This was where she had first met him, after all, and he had said he was homeless. Would he come back here? She had to try something. Besides, what's the most harm that could be done? Running around looking like a fool? She did that regularly.

“Mauja,” she called out daintily at first, but then louder. “Mauja, Mauja!” Her voice grew more insistent as her blue eyes searched the land and she trotted about. Damn him and his white coat- it would make him all the more difficult to spot. Spot. Spots. At least she found time to chuckle to herself. Still, she hoped she would find him soon. She just wanted to get home to the Edge, but as queen she had responsibilities.

@[Mauja]

The sun.

It glittered upon the vast expanses of untouched snow, a frigid, glittering sea of sharp crystals—breathtaking beauty unrivaled even by the prismatic labyrinth below the surface. It was a spot of pastel warmth in a pale blue sky, sparse warmth undisturbed by breezes. If he stood still, savored it in delight, he was warm, through and through, and not simply because a faint fever still lingered. He was warm, because the sun in this pristine, beautiful world warmed his back. Because it was full of life and light, finally having conquered the shadows.

He had no desire to move from his spot. Dark blue shadows lay deep in the snow, showing where he had plowed through the soft white, but in front of him lay only the unbroken sea, all a-glitter in the sunlight. His breath smoked into the pleasantly cold air, the bite against his throat each time he drew breath familiar. It almost felt like being home—wherever home was, after all these years. Frostvidr? The Basin? The Edge?

No; home was not a place.

Home was a state of being. Home was contentment and peace; home was the warm sunlight beating down on his back, the beauty of the world, the love nestled around his heart. Home was wordless, indescribable. Home was here and now, stretched out before him, and within him.

Irma was a pale shadow soaring in the frigid blue sky, a wisp of cloud among other wisps. She, too, was content—for now. Because the little menace she'd dragged into their midst was asleep. Having been young herself, she had no memory of what it had been like for Mauja to be bonded to her, a young, base creature, who thought of nothing but her own needs, and had no concept of how to filter her thoughts or harness her emotions.

And Mauja, he was an owl-father all over again, holding up dead animals for the little thing to peck at, enduring hours of chaotic thought-storms, and trying to keep Irma sane at the same time without losing his own sanity. So far, it had just been a few days, but he hoped Irma would get over it soon. It had, after all, been her idea, though he didn't remind her of it too often. She was a finicky creature.

The little menace itself was, as Irma had been in her own fledgling days, perched on Mauja's well-worn withers. Having served for Irma's perch for two years they were scarred, a latticework of black lines and dots. The formless lump of downy off-white feathers clung, in sleep, to his tangle of thick white hair, and the bony, jutting piece of his back. He felt more like a grandfather, remembering Irma's owlet days. A small smile made his lips twitch. Home went hand in hand with heart-warming, heart-wrenching nostalgia, pleasant and warm.

His eyes closed. He breathed in the cold, pure air, felt his lungs swell with life.

And the wind began to call his name, softly at first, merely a play of his thoughts and ears and spinning mind—then louder and louder, a clearly defined word, an eager, urgent voice. His eyes opened, and his soul soared above.

She was small, seen from Irma's vantage, a moving, black-and-white ant, sailing like a ship on a sea of salt. He knew her, Irma knew her. He raised his head into the wind, her name spilling from his mouth in a clear, carrying voice: the voice of a King. "Kahlua!"

He would've run to her, if he could. He would've run to her if not for the lingering warmth, the way his pulse was just a tad too defined in his skull, and the way that his breath would rattle through his throat and his muscles feel lax, empty, spent. Instead, he walked, dignified, at ease in the loose, soft snows. Perhaps she had heard him. Perhaps she would come to meet him.

If not, he would chase her across the snows with a wolf's patience, a slow lumbering beast knowing that sooner or later, he would catch up with her.

Kahlua

Kahlua! The sound was unmistakeable. Even with the whirl of the chilly wind in her ears, even above the sound of her hooves sloshing through the snow, she knew name and she knew the voice. And that frown of determination, that look that she had almost never worn before, melted from her face like the heat of the spring had come upon her. In it's place she wore a smile, wide and bright, eyes dancing as she turned to find him. It was difficult, he was like a tiger in the brush or a chameleon on a branch, blending into his native element. After all, he was the Frost Heart, as she had learned at some point in the caves. But she did not find him to be so frozen. And so the Sunshower descended upon him, determined to smother him in her warmth, her joy.

Resplendence always asked her if she ever stopped bouncing. Today she did not. She bounded, she leaped, she soared as she came through the powdery fluff, as much a child as she was a queen. The only thing that actually stopped her from just barreling into the brute, crashing into the ground with him, and then laughing in her brilliant, dancing way was the form of the owl on his back. An owl, that was most certainly not Irma. So the confused overo turned her boisterous canter into a curious walk and almost tilted her head. “A new friend?” she wondered aloud, before bursting into a brilliant chortle. What did it matter? She had found him.

“Mauja,” she cooed as she closed what little space remained, reaching out with her nose to touch her neck, if he had not forgotten their friendship the way the darkness had forgotten the light. But she did not worry or doubt for a moment. She trusted him to the world's end and back, her reasoning probably a mysterious jumble of nothing to any outside observer. But she would not have been Kahlua if she didn't dive head first into every situation with all the energy she possessed in her body. She had no fear of Mauja betraying her trust. She did not know such thoughts.

When she finally stepped back from his neck, shuffling through the snow, she raised her head, shaking out her mane just slightly, arching it a tad, remembering the beauty she had once demanded of herself. “Mauja,” she repeated again, but the word held a different tone than it had before. It was serious, a snicker hidden beneath his name, as though she was trying to suppress the sound and failing. “Bow to your queen.” But she could not keep up the charade, could not stay so serious, and she quickly devolved into a new round of laughter, throwing her head back for the pure hilarity of the whole thing. The image of the giant Frost Heart bowing before her was an image too absurd for her own mind.

If he had not seen her at her very worst, he would probably think her crazy now. But she wasn't crazy- simply joyous. Too many months of fear, of shadows, of stony walls had been killing her joy. Now it overtook her, making her the brilliant, shining star that she was today.

She heard him. By some trick of fate and wind she caught the sound of his voice spilling across the distance, and turned, to find him in the snowy landscape. Sunlight flashed across the black of her hide, lit it up with a warm, red tone. Once he'd caught sight of her with his own eyes he could never unsee her, that bounding, brilliant creature coming his way. The feeling of contentment lingered, spread like a pleasant warmth through his blood, and his feet itched to pick themselves out of the snow and race to greet her (but why?). How could a single horse, someone he didn't know particularly well, affect him so? How could she find the light in him, and somehow not see the shadows it cast? How come he felt unburdened when with her, touched by her trust, wary of losing her if she ever stopped to count just how many fangs he had in his mouth..?

She was just as much a mystery as the stars, or the wind, or anyone else for the matter, a never-ceasing, bubbling spring of joy that only talk of death dampened.. but it flared right back to life anyway, once the truth sank in.

Death, but not on purpose. The thought of Torasin was always a dark one, stealing the warmth out of the sun, the joy out of his heart; for how long would the golden man's demise haunt him? How many years would he spend pondering it, atoning for his mistakes—mistakes committed simply because he had emotions?

For as long as he was haunted by..?

Because he still thought of that, too. He still thought of it, and tried to make up for it, but nothing, nothing could bring them back to life. And maybe, just maybe, after all these years of running, he had honored them, righted the wrong he'd done—if only the peace would hold...

Then she was there, sweeping him up in the warmth and the laughter, far, far from the dark thoughts hounding his every step. For how can anyone not smile in such radiant, exuberant company..? She reminded him of Lena, though where Lena sometimes held back, almost shyly, Kahlua simply bloomed. Why, or how, remained a mystery to him.

“A new friend?”

"Sort of," he laughed, glad that the creature was fast asleep. He wasn't sure if calling the owlet "friend" was an accurate term—mostly, they called him pesky when he wasn't awake. Even Irma, in her annoyance at his tendency to simply overwhelm them with gibberish and his own needs, thought it rather fondly. Which was a small miracle in itself. Then again, they thought more fondly of him when he was asleep than they did when he was awake.

Her breath was warm against his neck, and his eyes closed as he leaned into the touch. What did she see in him? How could she listen to him, and not condemn him, but defend him? How could she grasp a stranger and hold him so close? What had he done to her? The ever-present guilt, the bitterness, had its claws too deeply in him, and he knew it—he knew it because he thought those thoughts, and yet he couldn't shake it off. Somehow, it had wormed its way into his soul, blackened it and strangled, choked him; he thought of darkness and revenge but never struck. Simply brooded in his self-dug hole, and even this, this.. kindness, this touch, everything she had sworn: he did not doubt her.

He doubted himself.

But as she pulled back something new came into her, neck arching. Regal was not a word he'd normally use to describe her, but there it was, the change from child to woman. She said his name again, and her voice was different. His heart was pounding, ears forward tentatively, eyes guarded. He didn't know her well enough to know what she was doing. Just waited, watching her every move carefully. “Bow to your queen.” For half a heartbeat, he truly believed her gone, someone else, a creature displaying such a well-hidden side of blackness, a penchant for domineering darkness—but then, after a sickening moment of adrenaline, it was all gone, blown away by laughter and wind.

Mauja didn't laugh. He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut and face simultaneously, and the feeling of relief made him nauseous; he managed a sickly smile, glad her head was thrown up, hoping she wouldn't see.

He was far, far too paranoid for that kind of thing. Far too ready to believe the worst of anyone. He blew out a shaky breath, ducked his aching head carefully. Damn her, but the sun was warm again on his back, and she was just Kahlua, just laughing, this had to be the real her.. just like d'Artagnan wouldn't ever shove himself off a cliff.. and sometimes you have to leap off the edge yourself.

With great, painstaking effort he lowered his head further, muzzle dipping into the snow as his right front leg slid forward, searching for solid footing underneath. His great neck arched, the owlet sleepily shifting to retain his footing, and with a grunt Mauja shifted his weight slightly backwards. His left knee touched the cold ground beneath the snow, and moments after he felt the reverberation up his horn.

Mauja, bowing for the queen.

He remained posed such for a second or two of utter stillness and silence, before he pushed off the earth and rocked back, and up; there was snow all over the front of his face. His head ached dully with each heartbeat, but he still gave it a ginger shake, before peering at Kahlua with sunlit eyes.

"So," he finally said, laughter in his voice. "What, my queen of joy, are you queen of?"

Kahlua

She was admittedly a little jealous that Mauja had found favor enough with the gods to have been gifted two companions, two constantly vigilant creatures to watch over him, when she had not even been graced with one. But, if the gods enjoyed the Frostheart as much as she did, then certainly he was deserving of the gifts that had been bestowed upon him. Besides, she was too happy to worry too much about a little twinge of jealousy. Mauja wanted owls? Let him have owls. Let him have a thousand owls, so long as the darkness stayed away and the sun stayed shining. Let him have a million owls, so long as she never again turned into a monster.

And as she was allowed to once again step into his private space, fell him press against her as she pressed against him, she reveled in the fact that he had smiled- laughed even. It pleased her to see him happy. There had been little joy in their first meeting and the last time she had seen him in the caves he'd seemed rather sick. To finally see the large stallion smile, laugh, be joyous (though he seemed dim in comparison to her- anyone would) was refreshing. He deserved happiness as much as any other horse and she was still determined to give it to him.

And yet, for all the joy she wished upon him, she still managed to distress him. But Kahlua was nothing if not predictable, and in her nonsensical moment of trying to remain composed, and then failing and throwing her head back, she missed everything there was in Mauja's face, if there had ever been anything at all. She never had been much good at picking out such subtleties. It was not until the Frostheart began to move, began to shift his head lower and extend his limb, to drop to his knee as he shifted his weight, that the girl fell into silence and just watched, her head cocked, her mind trying to wrap itself around the feelings she had about the moment.

It was interesting to be a child and to be bowed to, to be a queen who had no right to such a title watching another grovel before her. She was confused, conflicted. Did she secretly enjoy the fact that she held such power over another, that she could call herself queen and have him bow before her? Who wouldn't? And she'd always had a secret lust to be in charge, even though she wasn't really worthy of such an honor. Still, perhaps part of her knew that she was not entirely worthy, that she was not fit for the position she had been named to, because she was not entirely comfortable watching the beast bow before her. But she had asked for it, hadn't she? Demanded it, even.

She'd finally become the bourgeoisie.

And yet, despite the slight uncomfortable feeling that made the girl shift on her hooves, Mauja did not seem displeased. He laughed, even, and she dropped her worries in an instant- and also what act she had tried to put up of being sophisticated. Her joy was her beauty, she needn't flaunt herself to gain affections. “Lady Moon summoned me- and Kaj. The Edge is ours now, to keep and care for. Mirage is...” Well... where was Mirage, actually? The painted girl wasn't entirely sure, other than that she was missing. “Well, she's gone.”

What she didn't explicitly say, her eyes eagerly revealed as they searched for his own. The trial, his peace, his redemption. He could have it. And though she did not know it now, the tides were in his favor. All of Mirage's clan was gone- Rishima, the twin warriors, Vikram, Lace... even the hybrid twins were elusively missing. The fates really were on his side- if only she had known, if only she could have told him.

He wasn't sure why he had bowed, so gracefully bent to touch the cold earth beneath the soft snow—to give himself time to recover? Save face, work up some courage after that sickening moment of not knowing who he stood before? Or simply as a joke, playing along with the way she'd demanded his submission?

One thing was certain, though; she should not make it a habit to tell him to bow. Mauja had an iron spine and glacial pride, a free beast with a free will. He bowed when he willed, and lashed out when the hand upon his back pushed, and forced.

But he didn't think she would demand he bowed again. It didn't seem like something Kahlua would do.

Sunlight—so precious after days and days trapped underground—struck her, gliding along her white face and dark-patched body, casting stark blue shadows, glittering along the snow's surface.. and the world held it's breath for that short moment, wondering what she would answer, waiting to hear it, until her joyous voice spelled out the truth for them all. Mauja's face froze in its expression, the shields going up behind the crystalline, sunstruck blue depths of his eyes, guarding whatever secrets nestled close to his heart.

It wasn't long that he stood frozen—maybe just a heartbeat or two, but it felt like an eternity, an eternity of thoughts chasing one another rapidly through his erratically spinning mind. Kahlua—Queen of the Edge? With someone called Kaj? The Moon had descended from the sky, to bestow the gift of a crown upon them?

Why them? It was a moment's black, spinning jealously, of disappearing swiftly down a roaring dark hole, the ground sucked out from underneath him—why them and not him? He had been chosen once, led it, prospered in her silver light, waning and waxing, held fast against the enemies until they had all allied against him.. wouldn't this have been a chance to turn back time? Set things right again?

But though his jaw was clenched with the spasms of his dying bitterness, he knew why: because he had lost faith in himself. He hadn't dreamed. Hadn't aspired. He was nothing but a roaming ghost.

"I'm glad," he responded in a mechanical fashion, before blinking. Mirage. What had she said about her? His attention had zoned out when she mentioned the Edge, but she'd said something about Mirage. He was positive of it, and frowned slightly, trying to call it back into his mind. She's gone, Irma interjected. He blinked again. Mirage—gone? If he'd been without an audience he probably would've pranced around a bit, laughing and tossing his head at the sky, the dragonwhore is gone!

He didn't, though. Because he had an audience. "She's gone," he whispered under his breath, eyes casting to the sky, where the pale shape of Irma was visible, glowing in the harsh light. He didn't know what to feel—relief, that there was one dragon less in Helovia. Anger, that he was (for now) robbed of his chance to kill her. Anger at himself, for the weakness of being glad she was gone.

She'd fled, and left the truth behind.

His eyes went to Kahlua again, still bright blue with the sunlight. He didn't know what to say.

Kahlua

If she had known the darkness that lay in his heart, that circulated through his brain after she had spoken, would she stand so easily before him? Would she still trust him to the end of the world and back? Was it even fair to judge him for what secrets he kept inside, or did it only matter what he chose to say aloud? After all, she had stood here just moments ago and thought herself that she was jealous of his favor with the gods- that he had been gifted magic, two companions, life when he could have been hunted down like a dog and killed by the revenge-seeking Qian. Should she be shunned for having a darkness to her heart? Didn't everyone? Still, it was probably better her tender heart didn't know what shadows covered Mauja's.

And though he congratulated her, in a sense, somehow the painted girl was expecting more. What? A dance, a hug, a whinny, some excitement? Who knows. But she brushed aside what little disappointment she had quickly enough- she had celebrated enough with Kaj and friends to last her for quite some time. And well... it would be better for her to grow accustomed to Mauja's frosty exterior sooner rather than later. Deciding you're someone's champion and friend when you hardly know them leaves lots of room for little surprises here and there- everywhere. But she was flexible, moldable... so long as he didn't break her heart again, dampen her sunshine with death, then certainly she could roll with whatever surprises he gave her.

And in time, after she followed his eyes to the soaring Irma, the girl came up with her own whimsical surprise. “Mauja, come home with me,” she said, voice speeding up slightly as she grew more excited. “Home for good, to the Edge, where you belong.” And her impulse carried on, running away with her, her mind dancing in flashes of brilliant images of the her and Frostheart frolicking through the forested land together- not that she supposed he frolicked.

But as quickly as her mind danced away with her, as quickly as she dreamed up this happiness, she remembered her conversation with Kaj in the woods. “Kaj still wants a trial first but... But he's kind and smart, he'll understand.” And the little hint of pleading in her voice- was it for Mauja or Kaj? Did she really trust that Kaj would do the right thing? It wasn't even a question. She would have walked off a cliff if Kaj told her it was the only way. And still... she worried, because she wanted everything to go right. Or maybe it wasn't Kaj she was worried about at all.

Was it Aaron she was remembering, Lace, Vikram, the rest of the family? Would they really be so understanding? And in that moment she finally realized the full weight of what she had done, what she had promised. Because to promise herself to Mauja, to stand beside him and fight for his rights, was going to mean potentially alienating some of those horses she had come to call family. Because Kaj was a gentle giant, but too many of them were not. Would she really see them leave the Edge, if it came to that, for Mauja's deserved peace?

And in that moment her smile began to fade.

It was that thing again—the boundary between what he ought to feel, and what he actually felt. The distance between heart, and mind; too logical a beast, and too selfish. His mind hummed with the fortunate turn of events for him, numbing him to all else, to Kahlua's dashed expectations, to the fact that he did feel happiness, for her—something he simply couldn't express, because he would realize it too late, tonight, tomorrow, and what good would it do them then? And so it was that he was only so much broken glass in a bloodied fist, as unaware of what he was, what he did, as the glass was. Because it was the way he had always been, always remembering that he had a heart too late, when the moment had passed.. flown by like they all did.

Selfish. Bitter. The two things he wanted to be the least, was what he always was, justifying it with twisted, convoluted logic—or was it illogic? A perversion of logic, lies whispered to soothe the bruised self, to convince himself it was alright. That he was kind, and just, and not hypocritical at all. He spoke of ruling as a privilege, yet thirsted for the position of power—for self-fulfillment.

You cannot help those who do not want help. You cannot lead those who do not want to be led. And what right did he have to it, anyway?

As he stood there, gazing at the mare who had promised so much on a whim, he felt the darkness swell around him; a carrion bird spreading its wings, only to embrace him, and drive its beak through his chest, into his heart, whispering its venom into his blood. Even in the face of something he should celebrate his mind turned to the shadows, to the selfish relief of Mirage's disappearance, and that old, old vindictive bitterness. Even in the face of the Sunshower did the storm clouds gather.

Could you break your own heart?

“Mauja, come home with me,” she was saying, going on, the Edge, for good, where you belong, and the blue of his eyes nearly turned pained. What did she know of him? What did she know of the demons in his soul, of his restless feet, of where he belonged? Could he do what she asked—go with her, live a life in peace? Could he truly quench the restlessness of his soul, and live his life until he died of old age, and not of some vengeance or fight?

What did you do with life, anyway? What would he do with his heart, with Ophelia—she was as restless as he, he thought, but less inclined to violence. Would she have a place in the Edge, too?

Did she even want to be around him, after all the times he'd come and gone, after all the things he had actually done, and after hearing all the things Mauja wanted to say?

And what if everything went wrong? What if he couldn't stay put, but grew frustrated by the remnants of the Qian? What if they woke the devil in him, the restless beast who scorned their pacifism and naivety and narrow minds—what if he ended it all in bloodshed, clawing and kicking his way to the top until he breathed the free night air and Helovia once again knew him as nothing but the Ice King, the enemy they could unite against..?

What if he took this Kaj and tossed him off the Edge like a broken toy, simply because he could?

He could play at peace as much as he liked; but he couldn't blunt his own fangs. There was a difference between death and death, between accident and anger, fear and self-righteous rage... It was, he thought sadly, as he'd said to himself some time ago in the past season: just because he no longer believed in unicorn supremacy, he wouldn't stop hating idiots. Just because he didn't force himself to initially judge someone upon their appearance it didn't mean he would be nice until the end of his days. There was too much fire in him—and at the same time, he was so tired of it all.

So he stood before the Queen of the Edge, his face a closed book as always, but with something soft and sad in his eyes as she spoke of the trial, of Kaj, and looked at him keenly, happily, until her smile began to fade.. as if she understood the futility of it all.

She didn't know what he knew; that the one crime they wanted to put him on trial for was the one crime he didn't commit. That he was no foreigner to the act of murder. That even with a trial, maybe for his life, he still had that damnable part of him which, somehow, believed he had a right to cleanse the world of idiots—something so at odds with everything else he felt, that he sometimes truly wondered if there were not two Maujas in his body. One, the snow-soft and rather kind who dreamed of a world where he would not have to be so restless and so morbidly impulsive and violent; and the other, which sought to make the world such, by whatever means possibly.

One, endless, struggle for dominance. And a deep, certain plunge into despair.

"Kahlua," he said softly to her fading smile. Who was he? What did he want? He didn't even know—he'd wanted some sort of peace, to stop looking over his shoulder for Midas and Gaucho to descend and haul him to the Edge and the stupid Qian.. wanted to finally end that chapter of his life, for himself, but not for the truth. He was tired, of most things, he wanted to simply live, but the darkness was always there, and sometimes he wondered if he actually wanted to be rid of it or not. "Remember what I said that first time? About not blaming yourself if they will not listen?" He took a step forward, to reach out and brush his muzzle against her neck, wondering which side of him it was that spoke now. Did it come from the heart, or the twisted pipes of lies running through his mind? He manipulated himself, sometimes not even knowing it. "You do not have to do this," or am I just trying to back out?

[ Derrrrp alllll the wonderful conflict that makes up Mauja ]

Kahlua

Some would say friends are better as acquaintances. After all- when someone is still an acquaintance you can fill in those holes, those little gaps, that seem to pop up here and there. Favorite color? Make it up. Their family? Whoever you want them to be. Where they prefer to graze? Make it your favorite. How they would act when faced with the choice of being good or bad? Good. Always good. Always good. If only Kahlua had that knowledge- that ability- to distinguish between friend and acquaintance, to know that not every soul was as pure as she planned to make the world. But what did the overo know of secrets and lies? Of hypocrisy and deceit?

What did she know of the wolf that stood before her, hiding behind his spots?

And was she the idiot that Mauja hated? That moron that didn't know that her own self-righteous cause was futile, a waste of time? Or was she lucky enough to be the moron and not yet have earned his hate? Perhaps the real question was how long could this charade last? How long could the Sunshower and Frostheart, those two opposing forces, stand beside one another and claim friendship and peace, claim a truce, claim understanding? How long until the illusion faded and they were left standing together but wondering how they had ever fallen into this mess?

And how deeply would her heart break when that day came?

She accepted his touch as he came towards her, his voice soft... was he trying to sooth her? “Yes I do,” she responded as softly, pink nose reaching out to try to return the favor and brush against his neck. “I have to,” she said, but there she was again, revealing her feelings in her voice, in her face, in her body, in every moment she made. And the Sunshower became a downpour, a torrential rainfall, and something inside of her- too many things inside of her- broke. And she was mad.

One angry hoof stomped down into the ground and she baked away, raising her head defiantly against him. Who, what, was she mad at? Him? The Qian? The Basin? Her nightmares? All of them. She was mad at all of them for making her have to choose, for making this be so difficult, for making her grow up when all she wanted to do was stay a child. “I HAVE to,” she said again, louder this time, more insistent, trying to convince Mauja, trying to convince the air and the earth, the birds and the sky, heaven and hell. She had to.

“What's going to happen if I don't, Mauja? You're going to run away forever? I'm going to lead a band of horses that want you dead? How long is the world going to fight? How long are we going to look at each other and think 'he's different' and then attack?” Her voice had raced, too many words said in too short a time span, and she took a deep breath to try and calm her nerves. All the while, she glared at him but it had long since been obvious that her anger wasn't for him. “We can do something good, Mauja. We can do something special, we can make Helovia a better place to live in. Don't you want that?” Her voice ended in a flurried crescendo as her chest rose and fell. She was begging him, pleading with him, that same tone of voice she had used when she was demanding that he not be guilty.

But in the end even Kahlua- silly, useless Kahlua- realized that she was just misdirecting her aggression, her frustrations, at this giant beast who seemed to take everything that happened to him with all the emotion of a rock. Was she doing it because he could take it? Maybe. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, her head shaking slowly as she looked at the ground.


OOC| Sorry it took so long, school is somehow eating my life already :(

Kahlua

The queen did not see his sorrow, so self-absorbed in her chaotic flurry of words. She simply saw Mauja, looking at her with that same stoic expression he always had, watching her and concealing emotions he need not hide from her. Either she would be too daft to notice them, and ignore them anyways, or she would be too accepting and love him no matter what he felt. Maybe. Perhaps even the Sunshower had a line, but if she did, what was it? She had come back to him after he had admitted murder, stepped away but then returned herself to the claws of the beast. What on this very earth could be worse than murder to the painted child? Perhaps only one thing, but she could not imagine the spotted unicorn harboring such feelings- racism. If only she knew his past, how very wrong she would count herself.

Still, perhaps in time her relationship with the Frostheart would be akin to a frog in a pot. Boil the water slowly and the frog never knows it is heating up. Make the relationship more dangerous with time and care and maybe the queen would never even know what hit her.

But how could he ever, really be bad? The queen seemed to always be at her worst around him, almost like she was trying, but he always knew just what to do and what to say to calm her in her time of need. Some might call it manipulative but the Sunshower found it soothing. She pressed her forehead against his muzzle as he placed it there, enjoying the warmth and rolling his words through her head. It's alright. It wasn't, but the queen was not one to argue and so she tried to believe him. Everything was alright.

His next words only affirmed the queen's self-righteous tirade. He agreed with her, she told her self. He believed her cause to be good. He was saying it, wasn't he? He was taking her words and remolding them, making them clear and calm, making them concise but meaningful. Did the queen stop to think that he might just be saying what she wanted to hear? Be it gift or curse, that was not something she had the ability to think. “See, you do understand,” she murmured, but more to herself and the wind than to anything else.

And, for the first time in what seemed like months, the queen was just content to stand. With the escape from the caves, the return of the sun, the disappearance of the terrible fog and the seeming safety from the vile creatures that had roamed the earth, she had nothing to worry about. And, in the presence of Mauja, she didn't have to worry anyways. She knew he would keep her safe from whatever evils that might come, even if Mauja did not know this. She had faith in him that he did not have in himself.