Heavy, broken-spirited eyes stared into the dark veil beyond the gold again, a weight upon his shoulders made too real by this breaking of the boundary between life and death. Never before had it so thoroughly crushed him, drowned him, constricted his chest until he could not force his lungs to expand with air. Regardless of whether or not this was a dream — he was not quite convinced she was real, as this, no matter which way you looked at it, was a dream — it was an acute reminder of what he had been forced to leave.. and something about the echoes of pain in her existence pulled at him. "I cannot remember anything," and he thought, what wouldn't I give to forget, so I can rest in peace? Was this how ghosts, haunting, felt? Was this what spurred them to anger — to eradicate every trace of the existences which kept them locked in limbo, unable to neither live nor die? But someplace inside he knew that he would not, could not, give up. As long as he existed, he would, one way or another, fight to come back.

But some days, it was more a struggle to stay alive than a struggle to find a way back.

"I awoke one day nothing more than a child, an empty mind, and... happy." And he woke every day an ancient, a mind full of memories — and distinctly unhappy. Still staring into the world beyond their bubble, aware of the warmth she now radiated, he listened to her story: asking something from the Sun God, losing her memory... He himself had never asked for anything, had always been given, somehow; if he had been asked to live without knowing who he was.. would he have accepted? Would he have done it, paid that price? And who would he have woken up as? Mauja was not cruel by nature, was not spiteful, hotheaded or even discourteous: if he did not have his past to guide him, the notion of unicorn arrogance rooted so deeply in his heart... who would he be? The thought frightened him more than it intrigued him, and he let it be. No point stirring another hornet's nest when he was still chased by the first.

"Don't worry," he murmured when she apologized; how could he blame her, when he was troubled too? When bitterness flowed so freely in his veins, mingled with his thick blood? "I just..." The whisper died in his throat, and instead he turned, watching how her breath pooled white into the air. Gold light from himself was cast upon her, creating a different glow from the scarlet; for a few seconds he just stared at her, his 'brows drawn together in sadness. She had always seemed different to him in life, as if her world was edged with melancholy, but there still had seemed to be some sort of joy in her... That she had been allowed to taste happiness, only to have it ruined, tarnished by her past even when she didn't remember it — it seemed unfair, that she was doomed to be weighed down like this at all times. Slowly he drew closer, aiming to touch his gray muzzle to hers, to stand closer to her, to offer her shelter, comfort, in the shadow and curve of his body. "I wish you could be happy again," he murmured, golden eyes blinking slowly, solemnly. "With, or without, your memories." When was the last time he had, in dreams or in reality, sought to comfort someone, not just because it fit the scheme of his politics, but because his heart wanted to? When was the last time he had cared for another other than his children?

I wish that I could make you happy.

"And I.." he whispered, closing his eyes against the tears which threatened to break free. So close, yet so far... "I just want to come back."