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

They were ice, both of them—haughty and frigid, trapped behind the pale cold of their gazes (—hearts). She regarded him with a kind of grown-up wariness, and how could he blame her for that? He was a feral creature, a beast off his leash, eyes promising fell deeds until—

Until there was only cold ashes left in the furnace of his rage, a profound sigh blowing chilly air through empty stone halls. He didn't even know what he had been ready to do to her. Shout? Bite? Bully her to the rim of the Heart and throw her into it, knowing she could fly out of it? What had she done to deserve his anger, anyway? She had been an insensitive, callous little bitch but how did that justify attacking her in any sense?

Nothing justified anything, and it was doubtful Mauja would ever do anything ever again. When rationality and logic won, passion died.

"Hi Mauja. You look... uh... " Yeah, what? Terrible? Angry? Stupid? He doubted she was happy to see him—nothing in her manner said she was, she was just, neutral, despite the little smile bending her lips. (He wondered if anything could ever bend her stiff knees and neck. If she could ever bow, or if the ice along her spine prevented such a movement.) Still, he snorted, something smile-like ghosting across his face. "Conflicted?" he offered her, a thread of bitter amusement coiling around his light voice. He could've offered her a thousand different adjectives, stupid and mean, awful... None of them good, because truly, what was good about him? He was a lost, shattered creature, one moment frigid, and the next, a wounded, angry beast. If he had once been as steadfast as glaciers and mountains, he had grown unpredictable, volatile, sea and storm.

But they got no further, because whatever had kept her from finding her words made itself known to Mauja too—his head turned, to follow her gaze, finding nothing but Mesec coming down to greet them. And seeing him—

Gods, it broke his heart all over again—

Aviya had been his sister; d'Artagnan had been his father. He had been abandoned, just like Mauja had, but where the Queen had fallen, Mesec had.. had done what? Melted away into the shadows, to find comfort stars knew where. But for all the wolves tearing at Mauja's heart, he looked so peaceful, somehow, so content, moving with ease in a body he had once seemed out of place in. He had lost his father, but perhaps he was stronger than Mauja ever had been, for he still stood whole. "Mesec," he said warmly, smiling to the dark stallion. It was strange to think how small he had once been, and how small he was not now, but—all of that ceased to matter when Erthë moved again. To the soft sound of Mesec's voice the child practically fled, gracelessly shuffling in behind Mauja, and—reached for her bow.

"Schday awae fom me, woulphe!"

Wolf? Wolf? What wolf? It was just Mesec there, just a fucking horse (he remembers that giant wolf standing on top of him in the Deep Forest, wolf-forest)—there were no wolves around. "Erthë?" he said, the mild concern and uncharacteristic shock; his neck bent to peer at the girl, knowing better than to try and rob her of her shelter. "What are you doing? It's just Mesec." There's no need to be afraid.

But the words died in his throat. There was always a need to be afraid.

[ @Mesec @Erthë ]

Mauja

the white queen