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

To expect the Queen to materialize from within the borders would, perhaps, seem the most natural, but if you knew him, you would know that it was a stupid notion. Mauja was whimsical, moving this way and that, drifting across the face of Helovia with an odd blend of purpose and .. well, lack thereof. He was not sure what he was doing, always roaming, heart sick and mind bound, but one thing he knew was this: the reason most of his meaningful interactions were held at the Edge these days was because of the simple fact that he was always going somewhere when he was outside of it.

No time for idle chatter when you were heading to the Threshold. His life had been reduced to two corners of the world; the Edge, and the Threshold, and the long trek between them nothing but a blur, a means to an end, necessary evil.

This time, he came alone, though, not having found anyone to bring home with him. That happened, sometimes, and he couldn't wait around for forever. His precious kingdom might decay without him. Torleik might go mad without him.

The Sun could come and burn everything, or Lace would return and snap and snarl, or.. just about anything, and frankly, Mauja didn't trust his black King to keep shit safe for him.

So, with the dawn threatening to light up the sky the ghost came up to the glass wall, the chill of night causing his breath to smoke. Fog curled out between the gaps to clutch at him, swirling along his legs as he paused for a moment by the razor edges. Breathed in. Closed his eyes. Breathed out. Tembovu had passed here recently, in company with an unknown mare. At best, he was just minutes behind; at worst, half an hour or so.

Mauja's blue eyes opened again, and with ethereal ease he slid across the border, flicking his tail up out of habit to not leave any long strands stuck in tiny, tiny cracks. Call him vain, but he'd look like a half-plucked chicken if he didn't.

Irma, just as much a ghost as he, soared ahead on pale wings, the fading starlight glittering upon the snowy feathers. There, she whispered, her voice cold, a frigid whisper skimming the surface of his soul. Tembovu, and an odd mare dwarfed by his side; the owl's keen eyes picked out the fine, downy hair, but Mauja was fairly sure she'd look half-naked to him. How.. queer.

But not one to judge—only one to wish he still lived in the Basin, so he could ask their Weaver to weave her a cloak to stop that shivering—he swept after them. The mist curled around his legs, stuck as little droplets to the tips of the fine hairs, shimmering with the fading lights of night. Faint sweat dappled his flanks, veins standing out against the arch of his neck, proof of the jog he had kept up to reach home.

And his soul fucking soared for once, light in his eyes, a small, boyish smile curving his lips as the owl listened in to the tail end of their conversation.

"Kings?" he called, lightly, as he came up behind them, long legs slowing fluidly to an elegant walk. "Please," he went on, something dramatic and exasperated lurking along the rims of his gentle voice. But he didn't go on—didn't remind Tembovu that he preferred Queen if he was going to say anything about it. Just hoped he would remember it anyway.

And start using it, damnit. He had been King when he had ruled here before, steeped in blood and racist glory, arrogant and haughty; broken and ruined and burnt as he was forced from his home.

He was a King no more.

"Welcome home, sister," he offered as he slid up next to Nuray, matching his strides to theirs as he drew level with them; offering his black muzzle to her by way of greeting. "I am Mauja."

[ Weeelcome! :D @Nuray, @Tembovu ]

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

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

It reminded him too much of the past—moonlit nights filled with whispered words, words of glory and annihilation, raising their spears to the sky and thinking about the bloody tide about to sweep over the world and cleanse it. Wipe it clean of the filth stuck in the crags. Of nights he had greeted newcomers in much the same way, called them sister and brother and brushed his dark muzzle against theirs. Marked them as his. Claimed them for his bloody cause. Sheltered them from the world outside, teased the blindfold in place over their eyes, and prayed they would not be brought to peek underneath.

Or rather—he had worn a blindfold so thick himself it was a wonder he had even seen the light at all, and some voice in the back of his head had told him to be so afraid of the truth as to not even consider it.

And now here he stood with what felt like an iron sign around his neck reading "I hate everyone equally much".

What was equality, if not that? No one was equal, so the least he could do was kill everyone indiscriminately. Horn or wings, they all had hearts.

So, maybe that was why he was here again—to muster an army for a second war that would never come. To wipe Helovia clean of all equine life. To lay this corner of the world to waste, a ruin to match the one within—the only way he knew to express his grief.

Mauja sighed softly into her bare pink muzzle, breath rising in the darkness. She spoke like poetry, words like water and starlight, strung together in a beautiful way that seemed out of place in a regular conversation, yet oddly fitting for someone who looked so different. It wouldn't have surprised him if she had suddenly declared that she'd been hatched from a pine cone in a desert and that it was the reason she looked like she did and talked as she did. "Correct," he breathed in the midst of her speech, a quiet answer given in the heartbeat's space allotted for it; they moved on, slow and sweeping, Tembovu quiet in his brooding heights and Mauja's ears tipped towards the quivering lady in their midst.

Once, he would've celebrated the words falling out of her mouth. Once, his heart would've soared on dark raven wings at meeting such a devout follower of the Moon—once, black feathers of faith had been woven into his mane and tail, and his eyes had been a reflection of the moon at night.

But that was before his bitter heart had fractured, and the feathers had burned in the fires of the Heart.

So instead it was with wariness he greeted her words, turning away from them within his skull and wishing he could somehow explain the sheer idiocy of following any divine deity—

But how could he ever do that, when he had known himself how deeply rooted faith was? It had been part of his foundation, sunken deep into the bedrock of his soul, and it had endured many blows before finally coming loose.

And still, sometimes he missed it. The security.

No matter how much a lie it was.

"His Lord does have an oath," he said, white tail flickering against the pair of them—there was something in his voice, amusement and mock arrogance, a thin chill that had nothing to do with true emotion seeping through the words. "It goes like this: 'I solemnly swear to not call Mauja 'my lord', 'his grace', 'King', or any such nonsense within his hearing'." Self-iced nerves numbed the pain in his mildly crusted flanks, and after throwing a narrow-eyed mischievous glance at Tembovu his head swung much closer to Nuray's than needed.

"Swear i—" he began, a deep sense of finality in the command, like the mountains themselves ordering her to swear it—but the words faded, died out, stillness covering up his eyes, his smile, everything. The thin, weeping red had begun to spread, dancing from Mauja's flank onto hers, so visible and so ugly upon her naked skin. Had..? Had he..? Slowly, his large head turned as his legs stopped, and he peered at himself. Then, back to Nuray. His attention went inwards, to the tether between his soul and his magic. He was doing something.

He was doing something to himself.

He broke it.

"—it. Fuck," he spat, as his nerves painfully crawled back into light. He was throbbing, every breath sending a lance of near-agony through his flanks, and for a moment his eyes rolled back.

Well wasn't that great. Thank you, Spark-ass.

[ @Tembovu @Nuray -- go me for totally forgetting about his boils. >____________>; ]

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