Solid earth beneath his frozen hooves, the sounds of snowmelt and birdsong — a wind that tasted of everything he knew brushing against his face, filling out his lungs with each breath he took. Something in this air tasted right, like memories come alive again, and each time he closed his eyes he feared he would lose it all when opening them again.. but the world never slipped away. It stayed the same. The people stayed the same. Bit by bit he began to relax, thinking that maybe it was real, that he was back and it wasn't all just a cruel, cruel dream. When faced with others he smiled like he always did, curling his darkened lips into that soft, odd little expression, spoke in his calming, certain voice; but in the hours of darkness he stared at the ice and the rocks, panic hammering lithely in his chest as the world fall apart and his throat constricted. He had nearly been choked once in life, and the sensation was much like it; he shivered slightly where he walked, and pushed the thought aside. No point in questioning truth and existence when no one he knew could provide him with the answers he needed.

But being back threw another thing at him: duty, and one he had, unintentionally, carried out even when lost. Seeking solitude, peace of mind, the easiness and haze of long movement, he had paced south. Thoughts spun in his mind, schemes and needs suddenly waking up, as if someone had gently blown the dust off them. The quicker he acted, the better, but for now, he had to lay low. He still shook in the dark, terrified of being torn from his loved ones he had only just reclaimed.

His straying hooves eventually took him to the Threshold, a place he had visited so many times he felt like he knew every tree in the vast forest. Passing scents of feathers, sights of bare foreheads, the mysterious snowbeast walked on, not sure who he sought, but certain he would cross their path sooner or later. Idly ambling along in the dusk he gave a humorless smile at the irony; most horses became less visible in the dark.. but he just became more visible, as his white pelt stuck out like a sore thumb. Once the moon would take over, he would shine like a beacon, like a ghost.

He didn't want to be a ghost anymore.

Sight in a forest comes gradually, when trees clear and bushes sway another way; it is not like walking around a corner and suddenly finding yourself face to face with someone. His black-rimmed ears swept forward as his keen gaze picked out shapes in the distance, and after a few moments his head came up higher. Curiosity drew him closer, and eventually he made out their features; thick of build and dark in color, and both with slim horns upon their foreheads. Whickering a greeting Mauja flipped his head, tossing his pale forelock out of the way, even though his heart picked up its fleet-footed pace. What if they wouldn't see him. What if he wasn't real. What if he was dreaming. What if he was dead. Irma probably would've pecked his head if she was close enough by, as it was, she just gave him a grumpy nudge across their bond. "Greetings," he called out to the pair, for a moment turning his attention to the forest around them, seeking for prying eyes and attentive ears. Nothing. Relax. "And welcome to Helovia. I am Mauja. Do you seek something here?"

"Hey, what's that?!"

For a moment, he nearly stopped; nearly choked, fell over, died, anything. For a moment, his heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped breathing, and the world stopped turning. What's that..? What did they see? What provoked the mare of the pair to speak so loudly in surprise? Did they see the trees through his white body, the dimness of his outline, a ghost?

Pained, Mauja drew closer, schooling his features into his mask, open curiosity, but beneath the fear hammered hard in his chest. Only by going closer would he know what they saw, only be speaking would he hear their words and questions, and he didn't know whether it was good or bad that they, too, advanced. When finally the three of them met and stopped, the Frostheart felt near breaking with the sudden, crushing fear that he might not be back after all. "Thank you, Mauja, for welcoming us." She sounded normal at least, not as if she talked to someone who didn't seem to quite belong — just a stallion, who had greeted her. Not a specter haunting the woods. He released a pent-up breath he didn't know he'd been holding, only to snap his head slightly to the side when the mare suddenly broke off. Was her brother glaring at him? Mauja's quick gaze danced between the pair as the deep-voiced one continued, and his eyes narrowed but a fraction. He'd seen a lot in his day, heard a lot, veiled questions and statements; did, unicorns, imply something, or was it merely his way of speaking?

Did he think Mauja blind, for the moon-shadow starting to creep in across his eyes?

"Perhaps I do," he said smoothly, the corners of his mouth curling up in a slight, teasing grin. There was no way of knowing the hearts of stranger simply by staring at them, so he had to try and get it out in the open, make it fall from their tongues in one way or another. "Far to the north, in a land of snow and darkness, there lies a hidden valley of the horned..." His voice trailed into silence for a moment, his eyes moving between the two, still something light, playful in it. "Maybe, you would find it a fitting home, and a fitting.. company."

But they still had a few things to solve before he'd let them come, but for now, the turn to speak was theirs.

Slowly the strained lines around Mauja's eyes smoothed out, and relaxed, until there was nothing but the quick movements of his pupils to suggest he watched intently. Even if they hadn't looked like copies of each other, he would've guessed they'd been in each others company a long, long time. The bump of a muzzle, meaningful looks, small signs only they could fully know the meaning of. He was nothing but a spectator to their silent speech, yet drinking it up all the same, registering, but too tired to analyze and interpret. What did it mean, anyway? What was the point of fucking anything?

He had the sudden urge to just walk away, and find a creek in which to drown himself until his gurgling breaths were nothing but lungs full of water, but his icy control won out even against despair. It solved no problems, and only created a lot more.

How was he supposed to tell them apart by sight, anyway? Dusk bled most colors out of the world, and as they had largely the same body, it'd be hard to tell at a difference. Flicking his gaze across their bodies, he settled for the less than satisfactory thing in the end: the color of their manes. The mare's ended in darker tips, and as she spoke again, he decided that he liked her better than her brother. He seemed so.. grumpy. In the wrong way. d'Artagnan was grumpy in the good way.

It was a foreign sensation all the same, the quick judgment which came to him; hadn't he always been one to watch and observe for a long time, before "deciding" what to think? Why did his patience run so thin that he judged them, here and now? He felt like growling and bashing his face against a tree, but kept quiet, still, listening to her voice in the budding darkness, nodding an affirmative as she repeated his words. "It's a pleasure, Skylies, Lyriel," he responded, nodding to each one in turn. And just as he thought he had a grip on it, on the situation, on himself, the mare — the pleasant one of them! — slicked her ears back, as if he'd transformed into some kind of demon.

"I've not gone transparent, have I?" Before he knew it, the words were out of his mouth, something almost comical and worried in his voice and face despite the sinking sensation in his stomach.

But whatever it was, Lyriel seemed to not want to pay attention for it, for he cleared his throat, clearly ignoring his sister's display. Mauja duly obliged and turned his attention to him; he seemed unfazed at least, so perhaps he hadn't turned out to be a ghost after all. The alabaster stallion hoped so, at least — he'd hate if it turned out it all was a lie, that he still wasn't back. "Uh..." He made somewhat of a face, a thoughtful grimace, an expression so far from the collected calm he normally displayed that if any of his friends who knew him had been present, they surely would've wondered who this impostor was. "We've got a habit of housing wolves and the like, but as far as horses go, there's only horns." Smoother, softer, quieter, he spoke again, a single word, yet weighted down: his gaze locked onto Lyriel's, something darker in them, seemingly saying you should answer honestly, yet there was nothing hostile about it — merely serious. "Why?"

Apparently he hadn't reverted into being a ghost. Skylies drew closer on large hooves and thick legs, as if approaching a flame which might burn any moment; Mauja watched her with quiet intensity, moonlight glistening upon the frost of his horn. At least she did not seem afraid, merely cautions, and he assumed that was a good thing (right?). Every so often his eyes would dart to Lyriel, the quiet, protective and measured brother (not to forget, grumpy). Was it so, one was brash and bold, and the other more wary, trying to bridle his sister's tongue? Or was it just tonight that it seemed so? Mauja's keen eyes picked up the small smile on Lyriel's face when he affirmed that they were hornless, and while the alabaster stallion did not show it outwardly, satisfaction settled in his soul. They were not last causes, then, but rather the opposite. Too few racists wandered into Helovia, and for a moment he wondered why — did there exist a glorious unicorn kingdom somewhere, where they could live in peace without having to fight for it?

And if it was so, why was he so rooted in Helovia? Why did he keep fighting here, where resistance was unyielding, where they were fought at every turn? A slight frown creased his face, and he shoved the thought aside. He could ponder that another day.

Again, it was the sister who pushed the conversation forward, daring to take the risks her brother did not. What the quick glance between them was Mauja didn't know, but he had his guesses. To gauge reaction? Ask approval? "Because we do not like hornless as we think they're morons." A proud smile followed the words, and Mauja felt like chuckling. Something about it seemed so child-like to him, and it was quite endearing in such a large mare. Instead, he kept his level face, though the shadow of a smile curled one corner of his mouth upward. "Well, Skylies, Lyriel," he began in a smooth voice. "There are very few in Helovia who would agree with you, so best keep such opinions to yourself until the time is right." He tilted his head slightly to the side, and felt the miniscule reverberation as his frosted horn laid against hers. "But, there are also those who agree.. there is a reason the Aurora Basin hosts only unicorn." The fact that it's run by racists.

"Interested?"

His eyes gleamed in the darkness.