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

He wondered if the stallion had ever known love, compassion, affection; had he ever had parents who doted upon him, who whispered sweet nonsense in his ears and made him feel warm, safe? Had he ever had friends he knew he could rely upon no matter what, felt that trust? Had he ever known mares or stallions which made his heart skip a beat upon seeing them, which spread the most curious of sensations through the body? He remained nothing but a cold statue in front of Mauja, as if not knowing how to express anything - it was intriguing and disturbing all at once, and he allowed his cold eyes to narrow a fraction. Was his heart too long gone, too deeply encased in stone and dirty gray ice, or could Mauja and his herd teach him how to feel, how to laugh mirthfully, how to smile? Could they teach him what it was to be loved? It was a challenge, something to wonder about, something to observe, and somewhere deep in his heart he felt his fatherly side stir; no unicorn should go unloved. No unicorn should live and not know the closeness of their kin. Perhaps the greatest question was - would Deimos accept the gift of being taught these things?

”I can fight,” he said, as if remarking upon the weather or something of even lesser meaning. Mauja fought down the sudden and irrational urge to strangle him out of sheer frustration. Could nothing bring a reaction from this creature? Well, a reaction larger then a twitch of his fine gray hairs... Something came into his eyes and the King fixated his own gaze upon it, drinking in what he saw, the nearly mocking voice that slipped out again. The purpose? Could there be more than one? He resisted the desire to snort and say something flippant. Myrkurdýr was an appropriate nickname for him indeed, if the glint in his eyes was the predatory hunger he assumed it was.

"Dominance," he said in his smooth, cool voice, eying the gray creature as he casually walked up to him, wanting to try something out. Easily he slid past the blue tip of Deimos' long horn, irrationally feeling safer when it would be harder to stab him; the creature felt unpredictable, and he had no desire to end the day with a horn lodged in his flesh. It was bad enough with the burns.

Even if he hadn't believed the stranger when he said everything died, he would've done it now; he could feel it when he was this close, as if something was draining him, sucking out his spirit through his flesh and drying up his blood... It was unpleasant, vague still, but an unmistakable threat. This was a walking killing machine. How had he come to be? Had he killed his mother? With an almost tender look on his face Mauja reached out his pale muzzle and ever so softly blew hot air onto Deimos' shoulder before touching it.

It sent a jolt of death through him, the same sensation that was in the air around Deimos but strengthened at least tenfold; he snapped his head back, a look of disturbed wonder in his eyes, and unwilling to risk his life further when he already was worn out, he calmly backed out until the air felt less oppressing. There he blinked, and realized he'd come to stand beside Kou. He gave the mare's neck an affectionate nudge before looking back to Deimos. "Quite an ability indeed," he murmured. It had shaken him, but he refused to admit it, refused to let it show. "Deimos, son of Ignatius. If you would lend your skills to defend the Edge and our race, I will be more than happy to let you call this home."

( I hope you don't mind what he did! :o )