This is the picture that I'd have you see, and see it very well:

An old white unicorn stands just beyond the circle of broken warriors that Mauja has called to his side. He clearly was not apart of the battle - his old body shows signs of lingering age, yet no battle wounds scar his white coat. So why was he here? Only Mauja would know of him - the others would not. They might assume, given the gnarled branch of a horn he sported, that he was merely a feeble new member of the edge - a worthless old geezer who was now humbly following in their foot steps, seeking solace and protection from whatever would happen to them now. Had Mauja promised him a home, and now he was coming to claim what was promised? Oh no. Far from it.

Myrddin's large moose-like ears flickered in annoyance as he heard some members of Mauja's ragtag band criticizing his decisions, whining stupidly about why he had not let them die on the battle field. If these were the warriors left, perhaps he should have let them die, for those who would lay down their lives for a cause are noble, but those who would die senselessly, are only stupid and forgettable. Myrddin had not lived as long as he had, by being stupid in battle. Nay - he understood the minds of Kings and rulers, and he had vowed to help this one.

Now Myrddin strode forward, stepping lithely for one so old as him - as his unicorn blood still caught valiantly against his arthritic joints, and allowed him so much grace as it could. Standing tall, he narrowed his eyes at those who had spoken out against their King - not knowing who they were, and not caring. Words in this instance, spoken louder than their actions. They had followed him into battle, and had followed him out - who were they to criticize Mauja now?

This was a war, not simply one battle - and by the look in Mauja's eyes, it was far from over. Myr finally halted a few feet to the left of Mauja, and regarded the little band which had formed, his normally cloudy twilit-eyes now cold and calculating. Yes, he would help this King however he could, but for now, he would be silent. He knew the King was no idiot and could speak for himself; this was not a ruler he needed to be a voice box for, as he had been for some in the past. He turned a level gaze to the one he had called 'youngster' not so long ago. Now however, in the presence of such battle beaten warriors, he would not. "Hile, edge regis"" ("King of the Edge" - I don't know how to say edge in latin :P). Myr greeted in an archaic formal greeting, curling his muzzle to his left shoulder in greeting.