Daltoff first notices how the sun punctures the trees. There are golden holes of such scalding vehemence raining down on the backs of the two. Each time the trees part to a mockingly slow wind, golden fire spits through to aim missiles of dry heat at the emerald floor where they walk. Annoyance rises like blisters in their brains, and even stoic Daltoff is greatly affected. He did not take the great king Mauja to heart when he spoke of how the lands were hot. His mind is lost in between the coolness of the spotted stallion's frosty footstep and the moon's thoughtful stars and even the terror of his midnight blaze through the Threshold. He is all at once attacked - then taken into the sultry grip of a new empire. But now the heat is at great heed as it wanders down from the angry blue sky. Daltoff can feel it in his skin as more sweat causes his bay coat to ruffle. He first notices how the world is miserable.

With one wine dark eye, he sees how the path Mauja takes is slowly drifting away from the umbrous sheltering trees. Yellow pastures lead the way now as the trees thin and the sky's 'brow tenses. The one-eyed stallion's skin grows livid. He wonders how much further until the world drops off. He hopes for a chasm to suddenly erupt from the crevices of the earth and like a black hole, suck the world dry of eathshakers and airbenders.

"Mauja, how much further now?" He merely mutters to himself, but his voice is loud.

[ First Mauja, than anyone :) ]

He spoke and he expects to see the vast split in the world open up and begin draining terrible effects of sun. But still there is nothing. There is noting but the sound of dehydrated cicadas and the buzzing of hooves across crunchy grass. There is nothing to eat. There is not vegetation for miles as it looks, and he watches Mauja glance sideways at what might have once been a promising ground for food. There are trees up ahead, noticeable to the King's narration. He is thankful that the trees are the beginning of World's Edge. Daltoff nods as his eye slides across the tips of those hunter colored trees. They are close to black as a sultry grimace remains to the sun's appeal. Anything dark is rare. Anything cool and dark and wet would be greatly appreciated. But the large stallion shakes his head as those heavenly trees are still so far away; in the meantime, the sun can blur them with its heat.

He wonders what sorts of Unicorns live up in those woods. He undecidedly thinks first of an empire, the clinks of war material, reckless children dancing under eager feet. Eager feet that would die to pierce another type of flesh. He thinks of mothers holding their children close to the tit whispering softly that they shouldn't feel so wound up. But then the vision ends all to fast as his mind begins to think of a less than perfect realm. There are only a few soldiers rummaging across the borders with sides that aren't maimed, no children grace the heat ridden world, and Mauja is the only male who agrees in purity. Again, his head shakes, and he loathes the bubbling brain cells that created such a distasteful vision.

"Home."

It's a mere sigh as the gallant trees envelop the following bay hide. Shade washes over the sweat creating pours, and it looks as if steam is rolling from their shoulders, but it is not. The sea promises a cool bath by misting the wide trunks. Daltoff nods and grunts shortly as the wandering eye traces the outlines of trees hidden in the foggy distance. And soon, as the hooves graze more pine needles, the great Mauja stops and his spotted skin meets the cool bark of an ancient friend. Daltoff peruses by resting his flank, marked almost as an ocellus against a friendly tree. He smiles coolly as the call erupts from the FrostHeart's chest.

Mauja's voice echos amongst the treetops and all is still. The forest succumbs under the knife-sharp sun's torridity - but anon, there is that lull that shakes bark with its intensity. Daltoff stiffens by instinct. His ears erect and he is a guardian to these woods now. His still eye sees the once emerald forest transform as ravens block the sunbeams. As if their own feathers drained pigment to the forest. The soldier swears it is twenty degrees cooler.

His eye flicks uncomfortably to the FrostHeart, as he knows the black is swallowing him up. Daltoff's eye flies upward with the birds as they glare down as if to attack. He swallows and Mauja mutters quietly under his breath. Muscles tense under a sweating epidermis and a trembling heart. This is by far the oddest encounter Dalt has faced in a while. He feels as if these creatures are shades, peering from their seething black eyes, watching as if to prepare thousands of pecks to their eyes or their necks. They blot out the sun, one-by-one as they swarm around each other. They create an angry chorus of squawking. "Uh, shit?" Daltoff mumbles as his eye stares in bewilderment. He glances at the spotted stallion, unaware of how normal this was, and tries to move as invisibly as he possibly can to the glaring ravens.

The black hearted ravens continue to hold their blank stares, and their inky shadows still swallow the yellowing floor. One by one, their numbers become slower, but as they slow a ruckus stirs amongst them, and from what Daltoff can see with his one tiny eye, they are hanging in midair, shaking their down as a blanket. For a second he is nothing but amazed, and he hopes their following shadow will last to darken them from the horrible sun, but as their black feathers flutter down to the ground it is one by one that they disperse. It is as if nothing ever happened. The weakened trees still are able to hide their flying bodies and there is nothing left but feathers and cawing that rings in Daltoff's ears. He shakes his mane, and the tips of his mane latch on to small down. The raven's did offer kindness at least - the veiling from sunlight was enjoyable.

One he is sure they are truly gone, the bay warrior sighs and glances back at Mauja who seems to be gazing back with curious frosty eyes. Daltoff wished he could enjoy this more, but he remained untouched by those magical ravens. A gift wasn't sent for him like Mauja's blue tinted feathers. Or was it?

Suddenly a grin splits the bewildered silence, and the soldier hears nearly what he expects from his leader. He can only nod, still taken aback by those hauntingly fresh peering eyes that opened up his soul just a little. He wondered to himself about the mysterious ways of magic and how it reaped the world - both corrupting and creating. The old bay also agrees with the frosty stallion as he brings up the Moon Goddess. "I'd doubt she left any gift for me, Mauja," his voice neatly rolls, but as you'd think, he is a bit disappointed. "I respect her regardless." He also moves away from his tree as Mauja does so, only following up his movements out of respect. After all, he did own the World's Edge, he deserved the respect one would give a King. As their conversation continues and they step deeper into the territory he can't help but wonder what else lies within the realm of Helovia. It didn't seem partial to Isilme's warring ways.

Another question flows into the stallion's eardrums, and he can't think of another way to say it, rather than to simply put it out there. Like a weakness. "I greatly appreciate your offer, King, but I've recently escaped more horrifying creatures than you or anyone has ever seen. They saw with blade-sharp skins, and morph in the ways that the Sun tilts a shadow, and they did not slow to kill." He points with the sharp red side of his horn to a reddened scathe on his left shoulder. He also shudders a little at the feeling of revealing the happenings. "I need time to heal..." he stops and swallows. "Emotionally. But I will navigate the rest of the herd by night, while the moon's coolness can cure the sun's fever." He is a bit winded, and hoarse nearing the end of his lengthy response. The face of his dead eye only stares at Mauja, and the rest remains forward.