For a moment, the white stallion paused where he was, to drink in the day. For so long had a constant shadow lain across his heart, across his mind, and chained him to the foul earth he had stood upon; now, when his lungs expanded with spring air, he simply felt light, weightless in the whirl of time yet anchored by the love in his heart. Sunlight played across his black-spotted back and worked the travel from his tense muscles, and tugged, playfully, at the doubts in his mind. Like snaking tendrils of shadows they whispered in his thoughts, poisoning him slowly, asking him if this was real or just another level of his madness. Widening his nostrils he pulled in yet another breath, tasting the clear, untouched morning, the budding flowers and brightening green — the slight wetness of dew lingering upon shadowed leaves, the old, fading scents of travelers. The Threshold was, perhaps, one of the places in Helovia which felt both the most alive, and the most abandoned. Slowly, Mauja opened his wintery eyes to break his own reverie, and the sun glittered in them like the crystals upon the snow's crust. Giving his crownless head a shake he resumed his journey, leaving a trail of quickly melting frost wherever he stepped. While he loved winter, he did not want to force it upon the other seasons. He was glad his trail melted.

The scent of deer and newcomer tugged at his attention, and the alabaster unicorn changed his course. It was, after all, the reason he was here, endlessly pacing, stalking, this stretch of forest. The entry to Helovia. The gates to its wealth. He could call it a lot of things, but one thing he would admit, and that was that it was a curious place. You never quite knew what you'd find, and he enjoyed surprises, though less so when they were of the bad kind. Drawing in another deep breath and trying to assure himself that he was just as mad as he had always been he flicked an ear backwards briefly, listening to the sound of wings through air. Moments later the wash of her beats rippled across his shoulder, and the snowy owl settled upon his shoulder, gently gripping his scarred withers with her talons. She was the reason for his scars; but she was also the reason he was not more mad (at least he thought so), and he had long ago ceased to care about what bodily harm she caused him.

How she healed his soul forgave her a thousand times over.

With his cold hooves splashing in an equally cold stream of clear spring water he found them, doe and mare alike; the deer simply raised her head to watch him and the owl warily for a moment, before deciding neither of the ice beasts hunted. He glanced at her for a moment, at the slenderness of her legs and the darkness of her gaze, before looking on to the mare. Black of body with patches of white, she seemed strong, agile. Healthy. His pale eyes swept up to her face, taking in the gold of her eyes and the blue-and-lavender spiral of her horn. "Welcome to Helovia," he said, drawing nearer with open, relaxed steps. His black-rimmed ears flicked back for a moment, listening, before sweeping forward again. "I am Mauja. What do you seek, here?" Because, unless you went back, you went no further than the ocean.. and if you intended to disappear east through the Steppe, you typically didn't enter just to make a loop around the Windtossed mountains. With a curious and kindly look on his face he halted at a respectful distance, and waited for her answer.

night-fate-stock -- dreamofsandman -- deirdre-T -- deviantart.com // i-mi.deviantart.com

She took her time drinking, but it did not concern him. He was in no particular hurry, and besides, the morning was far too fine to waste with stress and impatience. Instead, he allowed the silence to stretch for as long as she wished it to; his gaze wandered across their surroundings, observing the play of light and shadow and how it dappled the green... The shimmer of sunlight upon water, how it made the soft curvature of her back shine golden. If he was a fool and believed that the soul matched the appearance, he would've thought her an angel, or at least something of utmost kindness. A small smile curved his lips at the thought. If such things were true, then he would be heartless and cold only — without the warmth he sometimes showed. Without the soul he actually owned. And just as there was good in him, surely there existed something of evil in her. He had found that no one was truly black nor white, they were all different shades of gray.

Yet some seemed to defy the rules of monochromatic view altogether. Surely Lena was some bright color.

Not long had passed until the stranger was done drinking, sunlight glimmering in the droplets falling from her maw. Respectfully he raised his gaze to look upon her face, the same look of open warmth displayed on his alabaster visage. Andreas, he repeated to himself, storing the name with her looks and scent somewhere deep in the labyrinth of his mind. Her golden gaze had narrowed, and in response to that he gave his head the slightest of tilts, and raised one 'brow. Had he done something to offend her? What? "Can I help you?" she asked, and he nearly laughed; instead, he just smiled a tad wider. This was probably the first time someone had asked him if they could help him; usually, it was the other way around. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Andreas," he said, watching as she drew closer. Perhaps this meeting wouldn't turn out to be a pleasure, but he couldn't know in advance. Upon his shoulder Irma shifted slightly, settling her wings more comfortable against her sides — otherwise she remained impassive, watching Andreas with cold, expressionless eyes. The owl seldom interacted with the equines around him, for she found no reason to. Just as he was about to speak again, to ask of her brother and her needs, she beat him to it. He turned his head slightly to look with his own eyes upon the snow-colored bird for a moment.

"She's learned to be careful, but whenever she digs in for balance.." He gave a small shrug. "Then it can hurt." Being a bird of prey she did not have the smallest of feet, though their size was largely hidden by the white feathers padding them. Unfazed by the attention Irma just sent him a trickle of vague amusement. "If you don't mind me asking, who is your brother? Perhaps I know of him." And perhaps he wouldn't; he had been gone for some time, after all, and Helovia was an ever-changing realm.

night-fate-stock -- dreamofsandman -- deirdre-T -- deviantart.com // i-mi.deviantart.com

Scarred my soul for life, this man was not me...

Amusement. Were they truly so alike, owl and horse, that they reacted largely the same way to the same things? Irma gave no outward sign of knowing what had been said, and icy facade so like the one he often wore, but within she smirked, not out of vanity or pride, but simply because it amused her to be complimented. Cold, cold, wretched creatures with marble hearts chilled by winter, and yet he smiled, as if the tentative warmth of the spring sun resided somewhere just beneath his skin. He found no reason to speak, though — Irma had nothing to say to it, and to say thanks for a thing he had no control over felt.. odd. Besides, if he would've thought to say that Irma was pleased or something would've been a borderline lie, nor was there any point in keeping the subject on her.

His eyes strayed back to her when he asked about her brother. Hesitation — why? Was there something unpleasant about her brother, a quest for vengeance perhaps? Though, why would she have so readily professed it to be her reason for coming, if she did not want to share news of him? Mauja's head tilted slowly to the side, his long silken forelock sliding off the flat of his face to hang beside it, and curiosity drew his eyes forward. Apollo? He frowned for a moment, running through his memories, but drew a blank. Nothing. It was no one he had met, though he'd certainly keep his eyes and ears open. You could never have too much information. "I'm afraid I haven't heard of him." Slowly he took his winter's gaze off her face, listening to her dreamy voice. "It is," he agreed, looking down at the small creek in which he still stood. The water lapped coldly at his fetlocks.

Another doe stepped out of the forest, and Mauja's gaze was drawn to it. They were such elegant animals, wary and regal, stepping lightly on the pebbles and rocks. As Andreas laughter scared them off he watched them, how lightly they fled, springing into the shadows from whence they had come — and he remembered a mare in a dream, her coat the white brilliance of snow under moonlight, red fringes like fresh blood painted on her mane. With long, floating steps she had run from him, with the same easy grace of a deer, while he had chased with her steps like thunder, with steps that shook the earth. The world had shattered to that cacophony, but within the grace of her company he had been allowed to survive. That dream had stayed with him for days, and filled him with a feeling he hadn't been able to figure out if it was one of emptiness, or one of being too full of emotions that none of them made sense. Even now he felt an echo of that strange pain touching his heart, and sighed. A beautiful day, a beautiful dream, despite the destruction and the manner in which it had ended, in a shower of golden sparks and shadows. The end had found them at last.

Was it doomed to fail? Was it his own attempt to convince himself that it could not work, that he should hide the feelings until they crumbled into dust in the corners of his heart? His ears slowly fell back.

"They're beautiful, don't you agree?" he asked her quietly, staring in the direction they had disappeared for a moment longer, as if expecting a flash of milky white in the darkness. None came, and he smiled bitterly for a second before giving his head a shake. "You said that you sought a new home. I could offer you one," he said cautiously, trying to steer the subject away from his lapse. He had no desire to speak of Ophelia to a stranger.

night-fate-stock -- dreamofsandman -- deirdre-T -- deviantart.com // i-mi.deviantart.com