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

Rain poured down, blanketing the world in a gray drizzle that pummeled the fog into the ground. Tendrils of it swirled about his home, trying to dodge the rain, trying to stay alive—it seemed almost alive, like a writhing beast, claws and fangs snapping at its enemy.

Or lover—the world didn't have to be such a dark and cruel place. What was wrong with a few hugs every once in a while? A playful embrace? Stars knew Mauja had gone from distant and detached to nearly attached to Tembovu's hip, leaning into the sturdy stallion whenever they were more or less alone. There was something comforting in having found someone larger than himself, someone whose shadow he could hide in, someone whose pulse was steadfast as it echoed into him.

But the struggle between rain and fog seemed more like just that—a struggle, and not a passionate dance. Ghost-hands wove through the rain drops, beckoning, and the steady tinkling of the downpour striking leaves turned into a whisper. Come, it seemed to say, come closer, follow, and with nothing better to do, he followed.

Follow, follow, follow...

Thunder roared. Lightning struck, flashes of supernatural white lighting up the muted world before letting it fade back into a deeper darkness, and Mauja wandered slowly through the Edge. The rain simply whispered follow, nothing of haste, and with the owls lurking in some tree—because they were not going to fly in this without good reason—he was blind to his true goal.

Besides, it was the closest to peaceful he had felt in a while. The battles with these Rift Gods, and the illnesses, had torn every last shred of tranquility and sanity from his mind and left him angry, and bleak; washed out. Death was a terrible and final thing. Death was no place for little girls of just four-five years.

The trees grew a little thinner, the last of the fog vanquished by the rain; he paused where he was, listening to the beckoning song of the rain (follow, follow, follow...), and turned to peer over his shoulder. A few tendrils of mist danced behind him, waving and flickering like fire, seeming to urge him on. He shrugged, and went on. What else did he have to do, but follow the playful imaginations of his mind?

A flash of lightning lit up something white collapsed against a tree—fragile and slender, pale as a ghost. Long, silken hair spread out like a halo on the ground, a pool of angel's blood—

He rocked back in the flash of light, startled, but with the darkness he realized what it was: a horse, fallen to the ground with a tree against her shoulder. A gryphon sat beside it, golden eyes vigilant. Fallen, but not alone, then. Guarded still. Slowly, with his head low, Mauja drew nearer. Another flash lit up the scene, making her perfect white, like something out of a nightmare, or a fairytale; something not quite real.

But she was real. Oh, she was real, real enough, a ghost of his past; soft and velvet, with fire in her heart. But she was thinner now, washed clean by the hammering rain—but still so familiar, from the point of her plush muzzle to the still mud-stained tips of her too-long tail.

"Arah," he said, quietly, gently, concern lacing his light voice. If not for the steady rise and fall of her sides, he would've thought she'd come here simply to die.

[ @Arah ]

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

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

[ The thread takes place between Halcyon Flats and Riptide Isles. So Mau's still Queen. ^^ ]

Was anything ever real? Life was but fragments and pieces, an incoherent whole made structured only by thoughts and beliefs, defined by actions interpreted through the lens of someone else—never perceived as they had been intended, because there was no universal truth, no singular unit of measurement to compare the world to. There was nothing in it that made sense, except when some mortally-decided-on rules were applied to the structure-less chaos. And so, things were only real if one believed in them, for the only real things were the ones that were believed in.

"Mauja? Is it really you?" She sounded so small, so broken, lying in the pelting rain which drove its way through the layers of oil and fat in her coat towards her skin—a delicate creature fallen from some divine height, tumbled down from her perch of grace and pride. What had happened to her, what had reduced her to this ghost hunting another ghost? What had the world come to, if he had become someone's savior—the fixture in their mind, in their compass, the brightly burning guiding star upon their dark horizons? He felt unfit to save anyone.

"It is," he rumbled warmly, closing the last distance between them. She was sodden and cold, and—his gaze flashed upwards from his lowered head as another blast of white light played tricks on his senses. Except—no, it was not a trick, it hadn't just been a shadow, there was someone standing there so dangerously close—

But then their eyes met in the rain-drenched darkness, and it was just Tembovu who stood there with concern in his shaded eyes.

"It's really me," he breathed, unsure of what he had meant to say earlier, if anything at all; gently, his sturdy legs bent, and he lowered himself to the sodden earth, wriggling as close to her as he could while Tembovu asked what she was doing here. At least, that was what Mauja supposed he asked, because there came out all sorts of strange words like beautiful and woman (—and somewhere, another stab of envy—) and not for the first time, he wondered at this peculiar habit to comment on everybody's appearance. Did it matter whether those who came here were beautiful or not? Male or female? It felt so irrelevant and at the same time, it niggled at all of his memories, sent something up his spine that felt like cold dread, an understanding he could not grasp but nearly had in his hand anyway. Disturbed, he turned away from those thoughts to listen to Arah.

"I've left The Basin, they...he named Thranduil lead."

He? Mauja supposed that was either Deimos or Asni. However .. Thranduil was an unknown name to him, or if he had heard it (which he might've, who knows?) it hadn't stuck. "I couldn't follow them anymore, I...I...Mauja, I can't do it." Breaking up with your life was never easy—there was always the good and the bad, and you missed the good but sort of forgot the bad. "Hush," he murmured, leaning in closer, trying to embrace her with his thick neck and what warmth he possessed, for she seemed to need it and also seemed disinclined to get off the ground. "It's alright, it'll be alright.. don't worry."

But lord she had to really dislike this Thranduil person, because while Arah had never struck Mauja as terribly arrogant or haughty, she had always had a certain kind of pride—she had always been well-groomed, pristine, dutiful, loyal, and yet here she laid broken in the rain and begged to be taken into the shelter of the Edge. Concern as much as surprise drove Mauja's 'brows upwards. One ghost walks out, another comes in while the door's still open—

"Should I be insulted you seem to think it necessary to plead with me to let you in?" he asked her dryly, a small smile playing on his lips like it could somehow be the tinder for a fire there in the cold, wet darkness. "Of course you're welcome here." And he reached over to nuzzle at her forelock, half of him feeling light and warm, and the other half—empty. They all had their ghosts haunting them, and she brought with her the memory of silver moonlight upon snow, the northern lights, and a time spent in the same herd as the Red Doctor—a time which had never repeated itself since, and never would.

And that hurt.

"Welcome home, Arah. You're safe now. This is Tembovu—" and he motioned up toward the giant, "—and we'll keep you safe. Now sleep. Everything is going to be alright."

But in truth, he wanted to lull himself to sleep as much as her, and he was glad the rain camouflaged the soft tears he shed.

[ @Arah || Maybe let it fade to black here/this round? Very old thread yes... ]

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