Hey-

It would be dramatic to say that Gaucho would have recognized that voice anywhere. Mauja had single-handedly caused Gaucho to miss out on the invasion of the Throat by the Basin, all those seasons ago. Instead of aiding those in the Throat, he had unknowingly left them to die. And for what? For a private showing of what would be the most inexplicable thing he had ever seen. The worst part was, when all was said and done, he couldn't even ask for his money back. Sorry folks, going out of business sale. Mauja is closing down. No refunds. Gaucho had watched the spotted unicorn disappear into the sea, and was left with nothing but guilt and anger. And even though that hate had lingered with Gaucho for quite some time, Gaucho did not recognize Mauja's voice as it echoed through the caves. How could he? The two had really only spoken once before - in the presence of Ophelia and the others.

Gaucho turned, not particularly bothered by whatever potential rudeness there was in Mauja's word. For one with such a limited vocabulary, Gaucho was not as sensitive to social norms and implicit criticisms. Rudeness in words was something he could tolerate.

As his flaming wings caused a warm glow to race towards the frost king, Gaucho felt the strangest thing.

Nothing.

His dark gaze fell upon perhaps one of the only beings in all of Helovia that Gaucho had, at one time or another, considered an enemy. There had been a time when the hate and the desire to see Mauja's lifeblood spill onto his hooves had been so bright and apparent in his mind, that it had consumed all else. There were weeks when the scene upon the ocean's coast has replayed time and time again through his mind; every action as clear as it had been the day it had taken place. Fury had lingered in his mouth, coating every word that related to the spotted unicorn. He had attacked Ophelia - nearly thrown her off of a cliff, that was how bright and lucid his anger had been.

But now?

Now he was tired, and silent, and distant. The events of the past were far away, blurry, and uninteresting. It wasn't due to some rational understanding of why Mauja had done what he did - why the Basin had attacked and how following Mauja with Midas was really the only thing he could have done at the time. No, it was not understanding that dulled Gaucho's emotions now. Merely time. Never the less it was strange. To feel the ghost of such a strong need simply sit quietly in its corner, observing but never moving.

What are you going to do now?

Too many ways to answer that. Did he mean literally right this second? Did he want to hear about the Throat's construction? Part of the Wildfire's mind was tempted merely to give him that information. What did it matter? But part wondered if Mauja deserved the intel, if it could be called that. Was he spying? But why? Moon goddesssssss Mara hissed in his mind, slithering forward in his antlers, hungrily eyeing the owls.

Ahh, was that it? Was this all really so petty, as to come to that? Gaucho held no real attitude towards the almost-ghost. He didn't think him a monster, deserving of respect, or even a real threat anymore. Still, the idea that Mauja had followed him here merely to ask about the murders seemed ... unbecoming somehow, as if Mauja should be better than that. Although Gaucho couldn't exactly say why.

Perhaps it was merely the ghost of his own anger, trying to find a way to be angry again.

"You disappeared into the ocean." He replied flatly, avoiding Mauja's question which seemed entirely uninteresting to him, despite the multitude of ways he might answer it. It was like a movie, where the hero and villain finally meet and spend far too much time talking about things that didn't matter. But who was the hero, and who the villain? It didn't matter - that seemed as unimportant as the murders.

But then what was important? Gaucho didn't know. Although he felt an odd curiosity and interest well within his broad blue-striped chest. What was to come of this conversation? A fight? A shouting match? Some abstract and useless non-apology? There had been a time when Gaucho wanted nothing else but the chance to bring Mauja to his knees. Now that he had it, the dun was oddly more interested in listening, than charging.