Mauja the FrostHeart
ice cold man watches earth die, eternal winter takes its reign

"Shut up!"

Mauja hadn't been heading her way, really - she was hornless, and he had no reason at all to approach her. The frosty steed had been content to glide along in another direction, pacing the tall forest and searching for others who were of pure blood, but her words carried to his alabaster ears and they twitched, amused. He hadn't smelled another, so who was she talking to? Intrigued he crept closer, tail whispering over the ground and each breath soft and steady. "I tried to save you. You were too slow. You went the wrong way. Don't blame me!" The FrostHeart's eyes narrowed, dangerous blue slits, and he took yet another step forward. She smelled vile, like they all did, but he was drawn by this. He had to know. Was she alone? Who - or what - was she talking to? His ears were alert, listening, adrenaline seeping through his blood and temporarily heightening his senses. "I already looked for you." It definitely sounded like she answered a question, but no one had spoken, and as Mauja stepped around a handful of trees he saw, with his trusted eyes, that she was alone. Talking to herself. Reddish bay, black stripes, pale eyes, black mane and tail. Hornless.

She started to walk again, and Mauja was rooted in the spot. He should withdraw. Caution and logic screeched at him to backpedal and abandon her, find a unicorn to bring into the fold, run away, but the other half of him stood frozen with rigid hatred. He played a dangerous game with the politicians of Helovia, pretending to be a rather amiable sort, keeping a herd of unicorns while claiming to not be a racist. It was a necessity, few leaders today were racists and if he went out there and shouted it to the world, he guessed they'd come in like the tide and try to smash him. For what reason, though? Just because he was racist? Probably. The non-racists had as little tolerance for racists as racists had for other species, and the hypocrisy of it made him want to curl his lips back and shoot a spike straight through someone. He had fooled them for long, but how much longer could he keep going if he just pent it up all the time? While violence did not lay in his immediate nature, frustration kept piling it up and making him volatile. He needed release.

This equine mare was obviously off her rocker. If she ran around Helovia claiming to have been abused by cold Mauja he could put it down to her insanity. After all, weren't ghosts white? He smiled, coldly, and stepped out to block her path.

"Has the sun melted your brain?" he asked in a smooth voice, but it was obvious that he mocked her. It was in his cocky posture, in the cold glint in his eyes, in the chilly little smile that played so brazenly around his mouth - Mauja was a cold, cold creature, and frost sparkled upon the ground where he stood. The smile widened a fraction, became something more of a predatory grin, a dark, wicked glint in his gaze; his head slowly tilted to the side, long forelock sliding off his face to hang freely in the air. The tip of his horn hung like a threat between them. "But alas, I fear you were simply born that way, hundkvikindi." And Mauja's eyes glittered coldly.