She gave him sanctuary. She gave him space. And he breathed, deeply, steadying even as the world broke apart, as if he stole the stability from the very ground. But even as the sky fell, the star that had led him refused to join its brethren on the ground; hidden beyond the other side of the mountains it watched in quiet desolation as the dream fell apart, swallowed up by darkness. And within the bowels of that cave, of the sanctuary, Mauja watched as she came closer, closer, closer. She had once run - why? - but now she did not. She seemed unafraid, unfazed, drawn close to him in a way that both warmed and chilled him. One by one the stars winked out, leaving nothing but blackness for their eyes to meet; he kept looking at her, though, the way she inspected the rim, the nothing just beyond their hooves. She was so close - he remembered it, remembered standing beside her, the merest touch of her body against his - he remembered how the heat would radiate from her, to infect him, but despite their proximity he felt nothing. She was a ghost, down to the ivory of her coat.

"Are we going to die?" she asked, meeting his eyes - but she was not afraid. She was no creature he needed to soothe, to shield. He had no reason to steady under her gaze, to curve his lips into a gentle smile, and yet he did: "No," he told her, with a certainty that had merely moved into his soul some time in the recent past. She leaned in even closer, and he thought his heart would stop. What was this doing to him? What was it about her, that always did this to him? If she had been giving off heat... Without any subtlety whatsoever, Mauja tried to bump his shoulder into hers, to feel the firmness of the bone beneath the skin and thin flesh - but he felt nothing, except a weirdly gross sensation as the image of his body seemed to slide into hers. He recoiled with a grimace as the last star winked out, stranding them in complete darkness except for the soft glow of the roses. It painted the underside of her body crimson.

"So.." he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. His gaze slid down, to the roses touching her fetlocks: more and more he came to realize, that this was just another dream.. but he wasn't quite sure when it had begun, or where it would end. It was not the first time he had dreamed of her - unlikely the last, too. It wasn't the first time he talked to his own mind when he dreamed, either. "We're in a cave. As usual, I guess." In fact, he spoke to himself when awake too. Call it mad, but it was better than talking to all those imitations of those he knew - those twisted, twisted beings who weren't themselves. They claimed the same names, but nothing about them was the same. Nothing. He sighed, the ethereal calm cloaking him like the snow had cloaked the ruin world. Odd, how quickly the mood shifts in dreams. Frowning, he peered over his shoulder into the darkness, but the glow of the blood-colored roses just faded into the black veil.