a falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes

But the birds fell silent in the shadow of death—the early sun glittered along white feathers and struck navy glints in the dark barring, and on silent wings her shadow passed Glasgow's tree. The cold promise of her presence brought an eerie silence, an abrupt stop to the chirping, before she passed. She was not interested in their small, fluffy bodies. She was not hunting. But what did they know? They were just birds, fighting to stay alive, and once the pale owl had passed they tentatively began to sing again, until the morning air was once more full of their vibrant song.

As if they hadn't held their breath at all as a memory of winter had sighed through the trees.

Mauja heard it ripple through the forest, the hush of silence in her wake. He was far enough behind her that the little avians had begun to sing again, but in a way, he heard what the owls heard, and they heard what he heard. Over time, the instinctual sharing had become constant, senses overlapping, minds bleeding into one another. They were separate, distinct, yet the same; their hearts pounded faster, but his life fueled theirs, and so, they would remain.

The mist hung like a fine veil in the air, glittering golden where the sun rays slanted in to strike it. Little droplets clung to him as he passed, forming on his whiskers, his forelock, knees and fetlocks, and whenever he passed from the shadow into the sun, he, too, glittered. Diego sat upon his back, or rather, upon the crystal staff he always carried with him these days. The water didn't stick quite as much to the owl, who was quite smug about the fact—his entire presence radiated satisfied glee. Apparently, it pleased him greatly that Mauja was sparkling. Passing into another spot of sunlight, and feeling the owl's renewed surge of amusement, he rolled his blue eyes and snorted. One day, he'd find some way to get back at the owl. But not today.

Beneath one of the large pines, half-cloaked in the mist (and surely that was the reason Mauja hadn't noticed her and steered clear of her, recluse that he was), stood a mare. Porcelain white, whit locks of slightly darker gray, and the same curious red-tinted fetlocks he recalled—but trying to put a name on her face was like trying to catch smoke, and he quickly gave up. He knew that he had greeted her during his reign as Queen. Ophelia had brought her. Torleik had showed up, which had, of course, soured his mood. But aside from that? He'd seen her around, and had a notion she'd actually gone and done something useful with herself, but her name? He didn't have the faintest clue.

He crept into another spot of sunlight, gold reflected along the line of his jaw. It wasn't like he was a dazzling, radiant beacon of light—it was far more subtle, just the sharp glint of an aureaute glow, but apparently enough to bemuse the owl. Behold, the one once known as Frostheart—but now, he comes in Glow Edition!

"Good morning," he offered after a moment, watching her with interest. She was doing something. He could tell that she was doing something. She looked far too concentrated to not be doing something.

But the question was: what was she doing?

[ @Glasgow <3 ]

I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind