och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen

då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,

He was innocent, goddamnit—just a man ambling along, all silver-washed skin and moon-glow eyes, but innocent because he hadn't asked the stars to strike sparks from his gaze, or for the water to cling to the edges of his hair like stardust, shimmering and sparkling. He was innocent, because there was nothing suggestive to his walk; nothing suave in his eyes; nothing but a slow, steady pulse, and a fairly disconnected mind just coming back to life.

He was elegant, and he was beautiful because of it, but he didn't mean to.

Never meant to.

And yet it seemed to happen all the time, that tilt of a mare's hips as they snaked closer, swaying, lashes batting a tad too freely over lowered eyes, honeyed voices purring out suggestions and greetings and all sorts of improper things.

Most of the time, he didn't notice. And if he noticed, he pretended not to—but if left with no choice? In the past, he had played along, retreating into himself, shoring himself up but being who they wanted him to be.

And.. now? He wasn't so sure. Silver light ran its hands along her lissome frame, traced the contour of her neck, rolled with the hypnotizing sway of her gait, brought out her eyes, and.. there was no mistaking it, was it? No mistaking her intentions as she sauntered over, stepping back into the brook he had so eagerly come looking for?

Without realizing it, Mauja had paused, torn between his wild imagination of cold, clear water, and the sensation of being a deer in the head-lights, too startled to run away.. frozen. That heart, which had beat so calmly, was pounding, veins throbbing and bidding him to run.. run from this slender, fragile-looking creature of aether and starlight, and run from the enchanting allure of her smooth voice. It went in one ear and out the other, but the meaning had imprinted itself upon his mind, and he found no words. They had drowned in the paralysis.

"I—" But no more came out as he stared at the deer-like mare lying in the rushing water.. doing what he so desperately wanted to do.. to let it run over him in rivulets, to let it run against him with cold, bright hands, touching, soothing, cooling... He felt his heart; it kept thundering in his throat. What do you even say to that? To such brazen words coming from a mare who still had some of the slender features of youth? Shut up I'm old enough to be your grandfather?

He snorted to himself. Mauja the godforsaken, afraid of a little girl.

But then he thinks of another girl, one who spits lightning, and he knows that looks are deceiving. Small she might be, but perhaps he has every right to fear her.

"I suppose it is," he finally admitted, a vaguely tortured note in his voice and the same thing lurking around the rims of his eyes—a shadow, and little more than that. And.. really. She could do whatever she wanted, as much as she wanted; he doubted she'd be stubborn enough to keep it up for long.

But they all tended to be disappointed, anyway, despite never having had any rights to his actions.

So with a faint sigh he resumed his amble, all moon-spun silk and frozen edges, before lowering himself into the brook—not exactly beside her, just another point he was trying to drive home.

You can't melt the Frostheart.

[ aww gee, Mau attracts all the ladies ;~; @[Tiva] ]