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?"