Well. Her answer did not exactly give him much, but he hadn't expected anything else either. Perhaps one day someone would surprise him and blurt out everything they knew to him when prodded, like a sack of secrets exploding (or if you had your mind in the wrong place, something akin to a bloated corpse and maggots). Instead, he just blinked silently, owlishly, at her. The death of her birthplace. Where had she come from? Who was she? Who was her mother? Did she have red fringes or was there some other secret lurking in the red, red, blood of her veins? If I cut her open will it spell out the truth for me? Doubtful. Tempting? Slightly. He chucked the notion out the window, peering at her with curiosity instead. Where had she come from, then, if her homeland had gone under so thoroughly? Mauja had simply, in a way, left his, though calling it 'simply' was too much of a lie. Nothing was ever simple. Leaving home hadn't been simple. And despite his best efforts at steering her aside from lunacy, she commented on it, and he gave a vague snort, slapping his pale, raven-decked tail against his flanks. "I'm not sure it's lunacy to enjoy snow," he said quietly, then widened his eyes slightly for the scenic benefit and turned to face her. When he wanted to, he could look unhinged, derailed, the thin band of white hemming in his icy blue irises; his head tilted to the side, long forelock sliding off it. "But doesn't brilliance and lunacy go hoof in hoof?" And his ears swiveled, muzzle shooting up to catch the drifting wind. He knew that smell. Delinne. Was she here? Why? Curiously he turned to look at the Edge, ears flickering as Ophelia spoke of the water.

He didn't respond, because the black Friesian with her lightning patterns was emerging from the bushes. She smiled, and Mauja backed out slightly, giving them both a smile. He quickly erased the "madness" he'd put on for show, replacing it with the soft, soft snow of his features, a strange warmth lurking in the cold-colored depths of his gaze. The slight smile he usually wore curved his lips, and he dipped his head. "Delinne," he greeted her with a gentle, warm voice, inwardly grimacing at the use of his title. King this, King that. It was getting old, but he would not force someone to call him by name unless they wanted to; if they felt they owed him respect by calling him his title, they were welcome to it. He did not wish to make them uncomfortable by demanding otherwise of them. Aurelius had, after as he put it, bathing with someone, come to first name terms with him. It had been nice, since being called your grace was a bit grating on the nerves. The question posed was slightly odd, but he just smiled. "We're having a conversation - if that even counts as a proper answer to the question 'why'." He shook his head, still smiling, long raven feathers brushing against the white of his arched neck. "This is Delinne," he told Ophelia, watching her snowy shape again. He liked her smile. It was gentle and soft. And oddly enough, he liked the difference in her eyes, the red of her mane and tail; it was beautiful, a contrast he could enjoy, even though it in certain light looked like blood of snow. "And as you both know, I am Mauja." It'd be good if Ophelia caught the drift and introduced herself. It'd be easier if he legally knew her name, and not just through her brothers. And maybe, just maybe, he could ask about her mother and red fringes - see how it really was.

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