but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

Make a space for my body
Dead or whole push this side apart
This is what I'm controlling
It's a mold, the inside that I cart

He had walked this road more times than he could count—east and west, across the face of Helovia, trudging across the open expanse of the Thistle Meadow to come to either the Threshold or the Edge. It had been many years until he had thought to stop in the Meadow and see what it held, who he could find, and what would happen; for a long time it had simply served as his highway.

And now it did again, because he was back in the Edge. Back where he had begun in Helovia half his life ago.

It was odd to think of, really. He had been a bloodied executioner on the run from those he had served, and despite having suffered the flaws of those ideals he had carried them with him—met the lady of the darkness and set up a sect to cleanse Helovia of the impure.

The hornless. And look at him now: King of the Edge again. No Plague. Mixed herd. The wheels had turned and spun and the circle come back to its starting point, but everything had changed. The premises were all different. As the ground began to gently slope up, Mau craned his head to look at his companion. A black stallion with a broken horn. Entia, here to give the Edge a chance to show its worth. A unicorn—about the only haunting element of his bloody past.

He didn't even know what he wanted anymore. What he wanted from his herd, from his kingship. He hadn't meant to become King here again, damnit—but Kahlua had chosen him, and he hadn't had the brains to say no.

Hiding behind racism had been so easy. It had given them purpose and unity, dreams of glory, a future, a path of blood and war to march proudly down, horns held high to the sky. What did they have now? What were they but just another stagnant, stationary piece on the face of Helovia? He had signed up for their wicked peace and now he was stuck in the face of that giant machine.

Early spring trees changed to evergreens, fog slowly claiming the horizon. The sun was slipping down behind the tall needle crowns, creating ghost-lights through their thick trunks and striking the broken glass wall with a soft, golden glow. Mauja paused next to it, waiting for Entia to settle beside him. "The Edge," he said, quietly, brushing his plush muzzle against the cold glass. "This is our official border, a remnant of a narrow-minded herd long since past. Watch the edges." And then, he stepped through the gap where a large chunk of it had fallen out, and into his woodland realm; beneath the last soggy slush of winter the moss lurked, and from somewhere further up the forest came the scent of brine, and the distant call of a lonely sea gull.

Home, he thought, stepping aside to let Entia through and peering at him. What would he think of it?

[ For @Entia to check us out, I'd love some company from another Edger though! ^^ ]

man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same

but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

[ Really sorry for the wait, been a few hectic weeks <3 ]

He wasn't sure what to make of Entia, and it was for all the wrong reasons. He was a charming stallion with an easy smile and curious attitude, but—and this was the reason it bothered Mauja—he looked like a villain. He was draped in midnight black, with a few white accents, and one red eye. He looked like he would be grumpy, or evil, hiding as many daggers beneath his smile as Mauja once had. (Well, maybe still did. He hadn't thought about it in a while.)

But never had Mauja caught a whiff of animosity from him, of evil plots and nefarious intent, of.. of anything but the kind of muddled hope people tended to bring into Helovia. He just seemed like a mostly content charming fellow at ease with his place in the world, curious about a new home, maybe a tad of longing somewhere in there to spice things up...

And that was what made Mauja uncertain. There was no obvious flaw. There was.. he almost seemed too content, and as someone who went around these days feeling like he had been turned inside out, had had salt rubbed in his veins and the inside of his skin flayed, Mauja couldn't trust it.

Finally, he revealed a hint of darkness, though, stating he had fallen down a cliff once. One of Mauja's 'brows rose, and he was tempted to ask about it, but he let it slide—for now—and besides.. either he had come a long way since he'd taken that unfortunate tumble, or Mauja could try and gut him right here, right now, and he'd still smile that charming smile and act like everything was alright.

So. Entia remained a mystery, and Mauja hated mysteries. They made him feel uncertain, like his own place in the world was coming loose.

It was, he supposed, why he clung to the ice cold of his logic and rationality so hard—because it made him feel safe. A false safety, true, but safety nonetheless.

"It is a home," he agreed quietly, watching the mist and the trees. Maybe it would seem cold and damp to some, but Mauja had spent so long here, running as a ghost through the fog, sunlight making him shimmer as it refracted in the water droplets clinging to the edges of his hairs... And Entia went on with a grin; it should've eased Mauja, breathed some warmth back into the cooling embers, but all he felt like doing was just staring at him. Somewhere, his expectations had fallen into the gritty gutters of dark bitterness, and the easy joy and curiosity was so at odds with it that it nearly gave him a headache trying to understand.

Fortunately, Ophelia saved him, in the kind of roundabout way that things always tended to happen. She greeted the stallion, introduced herself as a spy and knowledge seeker, and Mauja was tempted to just dump Entia on her and bleed into the woodwork until things leveled out in his head again.

But that would've been rude, and unproductive, and, well, all sorts of things. Besides, he didn't have much longer to entertain the thought as Ophelia murmured about being watched, by.. her niece? A daughter of Tyradon; one of two?

Who the fuck was Tyradon?

Irma?

The owl slipped down beneath boughs and needles, a white flash seeking Tinek, finding him, and then, the child herself; smoky gray with a white skull plastered on her face, eyes of beautiful red, and a black shadow-dragon skulking with her.

"Skullface?" he breathed in surprise, but—no, this was a child, a yearling. The Skullface he had met with, the one who had called him Fallen, had been a mare grown, riddled with scars, accompanied by a beastly hound. "Wait, no—that's not her." He glanced at Entia with a slight frown, then raised his 'brows in mild amusement—but he still didn't say anything. Part of him was tempted to put on some kind of scene, in case she was there to spy (why else lurk?), but... He couldn't think of what. So instead, he shrugged to them both and turned to stalk into the shadows, until he stood a few yards in front of her—unless she ran—and simply stared at her in curious silence with his ears forward.

Of course, it would be far easier to simply question her, but Mauja had always enjoyed .. testing .. to see what would happen when he did not behave as expected.

[ @Entia @Nymeria @Ophelia ]

man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same