He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at his own reflection through the mineral steam rising from the surface. Thoughts spun like shadows within his skull, forming, morphing, dissipating, and only their heartbeats counted the time passing. His, slow and steadfast despite his troubles, and hers, light and fleet, as the heartbeats of all owls were. He was grateful that he was left alone, perhaps because he was nearly out of sight? But what he knew, was that this daze was like a soothing balm across his mind, to simply detach, disconnect, and let the wheels of his mind spin unhindered. Like the sheets of sky-fire overhead, they moved slowly, flaring, dulling, rippling and reforming. Irma remained seated on him, watching the night with impassive blue eyes.

Neither of them noticed the soft sound of breathing, the light shuffle of hooves over loose rocks, the faint warmth in the night breeze — when a voice spoke out of the darkness beside him, he flinched so hard he slammed into the cliff face beside him, bruising both his shoulder and hip as he tried to scramble around to face the unknown, unseen threat. His eyes, which had been staring into the pools with a troubled look, were wide, nearly more white than wintery; his nostrils were wide, his breath fast and heavy, and his heart had accelerated from 'slow' to 'panicked' in less than a second. It hammered in his chest, seeking to run out of his throat or at least deafen his ears. Voices did not belong in thin air, voices did not see, speak, exist like that. Quivering, trapped against the wall by something unseen, he waited for the voice to continue, to mock him, for believing, for being mad, for flinching, for displaying such blatant weakness. Anything; upon his shoulder fresh blood ran as Irma's thick talons had split his skin to keep her balance, but he barely felt it even as she gripped his flesh. Her head kept turning from side to side, trying to locate what it was, but he was too far gone to realize that she, for once, did not know what was up. She had always been so sure of herself and the situation when they were gone.

Whatever he had expected, it was not for the darkness to pull back and reveal .. Faelene.

He barely registered her voice. It took him several moments, several shaking breaths, to even realize that he knew her face, from the tip of her gnarled horn to the red, grayed-out mess across her neck. Trembling, both from the shock and the adrenaline seeping out of him, he finally brought his gaze to her eyes. If this had been before.. would he have started so? Would he have thrown himself against a cliff wall in blind panic and surprise? He had no way of knowing, and the only thing he knew was that he had to be careful. Very careful. The surprising had always bothered him in ways that nothing he could ever remotely predict did, and this had been very surprising. Trying to gulp down cold air and collect himself he closed his eyes for a moment. Damn...

Could he threaten her into silence? Or should he just act as if nothing had happened?
As if he even could convince her of that.

Slowly his heart's frantic pace lessened to something more natural, and the tight knot of his thoughts — anger at being taken unaware, anger at his unworthy reaction, anger at his weakness, weakness from the shock — relaxed and unwound. Other thoughts, perhaps more important, trickled in like water starting to break an old dam's wall.

Did she ask, because she was curious? Did she care? Was she worried? Was he bothered, that she could read his face, when he thought he was alone? Slowly his eyes opened again, normal in size, but as she had already taken him so unawares he found no will to mask most of what he felt. Instead of the inscrutable, mysterious depth of ice, he allowed other emotions in; wariness, exhaustion, something that seemed more alive than cold and stoic. Human, if you will, but for the fact it was in the eyes of a horse. "Faelene," he said in a tired voice, still leaning slightly against the cliff. Pushing off it with a small shake he righted himself, before giving her a sour sort of smile. "Don't do that again, will you?"

He might not wear his mask, his second skin of finely fitted ice, but he would not spill his guts to her just because he was unprotected.

Mauja Frosthjärta

Wake up, I only want to wake up,
Don't wanna fall asleep, but
I'm already dreaming.

She had to be sure he was real. The irony of it was nearly great enough to make the ground cave in and swallow him whole; she had been seeking the answer to the question plaguing him day and night, and it was unfair that she had found it, and not he. If he could somehow steal it from her mind, the conclusion she had come to, would it give him peace?

Part of him was jealous that she handled it all so much better than he. True, she seemed uncomfortable about having made him jump into a wall, but she had recovered faster than he. Giving an irritated sort of noise, Irma spread her wings and pushed off his shoulder, catching the currents of steam above the pools and rising into the sky like a ghost. He barely watched her leave, his eyes studying Faelene instead. A coy smile was upon her face, mischief in her eyes as she asked if it was alright if she did it to others. Mauja opened his mouth slightly, about to answer something, but he found no words at all. He found no witty comeback, no laugh, no anger, nothing, just the confused question: who am I? how do I act?

".. but I feel for your stellar performance of being alive I owe you something..." Troubled, Mauja closed his mouth again and frowned, tearing his eyes from her dark shape. What should he say? What would the Frostheart saying? Feeling like a stranger in his own body he kept staring at nothing, knowing that his side of their conversation, if he could even call it that, was very, very.. strange. He contributed mostly with moments of silence, really. "Then," he finally said, finding something, a shard of himself, buried deep within. "You should not make promises."

From somewhere it came, a flood of cold in his veins, a rush of chill in his soul; the breath he exhaled was frigid, burning in his throat, another memory of himself crawling up from the depths. And with it, came something else. The ground just to the right of her split open with a deep groan, and hot on its heels came the ice, thick and sturdy, shooting up like a missile towards the night sky. With a clack it reached its full height, towering but a few inches to the side of her, glittering coldly in the starlight. As if not quite familiar with it he studied it, slipping past her black, warm body to touch his dark muzzle to it. It felt cold, deathly so, pallid and frigid. Something in his soul resonated with it, a deep sense of connection, belonging. Slowly he craned his head, to peer at her with a sense of darkness in his gaze — not evil, but just.. dark. Why did the ice make it easier to breathe?

Something lighter slid in across the darkness, a twinkle like a bright star upon a cloudy sky, and a small, mischievous smile curved his lips. He wasn't quite sure where it came from, it was him without a shield, or if it was the shield itself. "I think, Faelene, that in some regards, we are more alike than we know."

Shadows and ice.

Mauja Frosthjärta

He was not a vindictive creature when it came to pranks, nor had he meant to hit her, but there he was, pulling spikes from the ground and there she was, jumping into it for some unfathomable reason. Or was his aim so badly off, that the distance from her had been too short? That he'd accidentally set it off just against her flank? That could've gone badly — very badly. Exhaling through wide nostrils he pushed his dark muzzle against the cool pillar, feeling the sharp texture of frost upon his sensitive skin. They were the weapons of his legacy, of his bloodlines and of his soul, and at the same time, they were his toys. But they had no blunt edges. Sharp swords make bad playthings, and even if the tip itself had been far from her, the crisp body of the spike had smacked against her. Well, in one way they were well and truly even now. The left side of his body throbbed dully from the encounter with the wall, and a few streaks of red upon his withers shimmered in the starlight. Fear and pain had been given and taken in more or less equal amounts, and as she gave a short laugh, he couldn't help but do the same. Something about her seemed a bit annoyed at having the same kind of thing sprung back at her, the shadows biting back. "Now more than ever," he replied airily, a familiar smile tugging at his lips and turning the corners of his mouth up.

A heartbeat or so passed in which his attention remained upon his creation; it thrummed with the dying embers of power, a celestial echo linked to the rush of chill in his blood. He could feel it waning as the powers holding it together faded, and despite the edge of cold in the night the power of the Sun was coming, slowly creeping up on them. Tallsun's budding warmth demanded that his ice not linger, and with a small, resigned sigh Mauja released his grip on the ice. With a shudder it splintered even as it fell, the earth sighing as it swallowed it up again. Nothing remained to mark the spot where it had stood, save for a few droplets of water, but even as he watched them they sunk into the earth. Were all of their existences like that? Powerful in their prime, but ultimately brief, traceless? The world had spun for ages without them; and it would spin for ages more, without them. A burned forest could regrow, and a regrown forest be burned, but what impact upon the earth did mortal lives have? They were like the rain, coming, falling, disappearing.

She was watching him. Slowly his ears rotated back, until he brought his pale head around to look upon her eyes. Blue met black. He had sometimes mused on how black eyes looked soulless, as they were nothing but pits of shadows and dark voids, but somehow, hers did not seem so; here and there the stars shimmered or struck upon silver pieces. They gleamed, but they were not the naive eyes of a summer child — there was something darker to them, concentration, something like a thoughtful question not voiced aloud. Blinking slowly every once in a while Mauja kept looking at her, at her eyes, wondering what she wanted, what she wanted to know. Or was she merely thinking on her own? Slowly his own gaze lost its dark edge, growing softer, gentler, and his head tilted slightly to the side. Breaths pooled around their muzzles in the moist air, and he flicked his tail. "You're wondering something," he said quietly, stating it as a truth even though he was not sure. It was either that, or she was sunk deep in thoughts regarding him, which would explain the focused intensity of her gaze. "But I don't know what to answer." Even if he knew the question, would he be able to? His thoughts seemed to slide and collide, crash and roil, to break apart at the merest touch and drown in the roaring sea; even if he followed a train of it, it could shatter in an instant, and he would no longer remember what he had been thinking. What he had been intending, doing, and just as his focus could never keep straight, so couldn't his emotions. Always shifting, never staying the same, as he tried to remember who he had been, and find out who he was now.

Mauja Frosthjärta

A moment before he spoke her eyes closed, dark lids shutting out the faint gleam and sparkle of her gaze. Left alone with the darkness he found himself missing it. Even though she was there, within reach of a touch, he felt lonely, as if his company had walked away and left him outside. She's just thinking he told himself, but it did not ease the feeling. Strange, how eyes could draw you in and shut you out in equal measures.

His voice drew her attention, though, her black ears sweeping forward to catch his quiet voice, and he was rewarded with seeing her eyes flicker back into life. With a sincere curiosity he had not felt in a long time he watched her, his own eyes perking forward and a small smile answering hers. Since his return he had had a hard time managing the thoughts and problems of others, always wanting to run away, not listen, shut them out; he could not make sense of their woes when he couldn't even make sense of his own, but something in the air — the minerals from the springs? — had him calmer, somewhat relaxed once the shock had worn off. He found himself genuinely interested in what was on her mind, what weighed heavy on her thoughts to give rise to the thoughtful way she had watched him. And he found that he could listen, attentively, drink in what she said without breaking his mind in half, one for himself and one for the other, a forced relationship to comprehend and act; no, he could listen, and think, but as a whole. Something about the experience, nothing but a small, simple act, was freeing for his troubled spirit, like seeing the first signs of flesh purging and infected wound and starting to close.

Her thoughts ran deeper than he had expected, perhaps because his own had not reached beyond the simple moment of what they'd been doing — surprising, flinching, smarting. She spoke calmly, if quietly, seldom stopping to think, to fumble over words and find the correct way to put it. It gave him the idea she'd thought about this particular thing before. Briefly Mauja took his eyes off her, to gaze into the Basin beyond them; it was calm and quiet, no one stirring to their hushed conversation in its corner. It was so tranquil. Blue eyes shifted back, to hers, reading her more serious expression.

Mulling over her words, Mauja allowed the heavy silence to claim them again, though for his part it was not awkward, merely thoughtful. She seemed to fade a little, as if withdrawing into herself once her words were spent — idly his gaze trailed across her body, drawn to her hooves as she stomped one of them, and then back to her lowered face. Her eyes were veiled by her lashes from this angle. "I think," he began after a moment, less sure of his words than she had been. "That we can never, truly, know anyone.. not even ourselves. Something will always happen that we could not predict, reactions in ourselves, thoughts, desires..." In a sense, he had learned this the hard way the past few weeks, trapped in a world where he did not belong. Guilt, shame, love, frustration, hope, desperation, anger, sorrow, hate, fury, despair. So many states of mind he had never known he could truly feel in his heart and soul.

"Sometimes I think that we can only know ourselves through others, that we can only see what we are reflected in the eyes of another. Our thoughts and deeds, and how they weigh them." His eyes roamed up to the stars. "Nor do I think we can ever truly know another. The words they speak might lie, the ideas they express nothing but fancies or schemes — morals can crumble under power, courage in the face of danger. Who they claim to be, might not be who they are, and we might be fooled until the point where they break, and then we wonder, did I ever know you at all?. It's a depressing thought, really, and in a way it's the same with ourselves. If I lie to every horse I meet, will the picture they paint of me be me?" Mauja was one who often let his eyes and mouth speak words he did not really mean, and one who always doubted the sincerity of others. Only upon their deaths could he render judgment of their lives.

"I think we change a little, depending on who we are with, and that only time can teach us to know another." The last he said quietly, bringing his eyes down from the heavens to fall upon her. He had not given her answers, had he? Only more thoughts, fuel for her fire. Slowly his lips curved into a small, apologetic smile, something vaguely self-conscious about it. I'm sorry I could not give you an answer.

Mauja Frosthjärta

"You helped."
I did?

He wasn't quite sure what he had done to help her, and it showed in the surprised tilt of his 'brows. Faelene's grin was infectious, transforming his smile into something else; one corner of his mouth curled up, and a small laugh escaped in the form of a huff of breath. Mauja was not privy to the workings of another's mind, so perhaps his words had helped her — who was he to say she lied? She had no reason to, she did not feel like the type to plaster on a smile and pretend he was an almighty King. No, unless he was wholly stupid and she a master actress, she was honest. There was something genuine in the grin, and he found himself liking it, this odd, night encounter in a corner of paradise. The air felt freer, lighter, colder and deeper in his lungs, and each beat of his darkened heart came easier. He didn't feel panic caving in on him, the need to get away, pretend, smile and analyze; before the war, he had felt a need to always have the answers, to lay the right path at the feet of his subjects and friends, be their leadstar and guide. Now that he was back, and lost within himself, he couldn't find his own way and much less that of another, and somehow that kept tainting every encounter he had. To simply be, open and honest and, he thought, appreciated — he hadn't felt this good in a very, very long time.

Still with a small grin upon his face, Mauja raised his eyes to the stars again. Far away they twinkled, and briefly he wondered if they shone in daylight too, only that their eyes were too weak to pick them out against the blue of the sky? The northern lights still rippled in the sky, reflecting in his upturned eyes, and his ears rotated back as more quiet words slipped out of her mouth. " .. the need to argue..." Something about her words struck him as infinitely sad, and slowly he lowered his eyes from the sky to look at her. "It is sad, when we're too busy to think of ourselves and our opinions, that we discard others as wrong without truly listening," he murmured as she moved up towards the spring's rim, nearby where he had stood before going down to his now-gone spike. Lowering his head he brushed his dark muzzle against where it had stood, before flicking his tail and following her. Only a few steps, nothing more, and then he stood where he had, bruised shoulder nearly against the wall and the other inches from hers. Stars and fire still wheeled in the depths of the water, but instead of only one ghost peering down into it, there were two; one the classic white of wraiths, the other nothing but the hint of a shadow, barely visible against the dark sky.

"Have you dared go in there?" Her head curled towards him, and he shook his head mutely. It was nearly summer here in their vale, but outside winter held the Steppe in a merciless grip for most of the year. To get wet in such conditions wasn't something he was inclined to do. Wondering if he should do something, maybe try and push her in or wade into himself and goad her in, he craned his head towards her, blue eyes seeking the black which had been turned to him moments ago. But she'd looked back, out across the steaming surface, and when she spoke again her voice was different — that alone nearly blinded him to her words, but he did hear them, and all at once he felt very strange. Honored, touched, but also vaguely sad, that he hadn't been there to share in this.. until now. "Faelene..." His voice was silent, choked with the emotion, his 'brows drawn up and together, nearly making him look anxious. He blinked rapidly in the dark a few times, and on a whim, reached out to touch her shoulder. "If I had known, I would've been so very proud," he murmured against her skin. She smelled of horse, vaguely of sweat, a working animal: healthy, despite her troubles. Suddenly, his face transformed into a grin and he gave a light, quiet laugh, not wanting to disturb the sleeping Basin. "I'll have to be proud now instead, I guess." Giving her mane a teasing tug he stepped into the pool, carefully seeking the bottom as it was more like taking a step down than walking out to sea; he was only halfway in it, his hind hooves still upon the ground, and yet the warm water rippled around his knees. Turning his white head around, he gave her another of his youthful, carefree grins. "C'mon," he urged her quietly, waiting for her to step. He didn't want to go on this adventure alone, without her.

Mauja Frosthjärta

She said it counted now too, and he would have to take her word for that. In the daze of returning, the frantic pace of slipping back into the rhythm of life, into the slot he once had held for himself, he hadn't truly pondered about the Aurora Basin and how it came to be. How had they got this place, really? As he slowly waded into the warm pool his mind spun, trying to fit the pieces together but whatever picture he painted came out crooked and bent. He understood the reason for its name, and he was thankful it lay among the mountains, but beyond that.. he knew nothing. It was not a feeling Mauja particularly enjoyed, but he didn't want to ask about it. Not now. This moment was far too precious to burden with such things, and thoughtfully he lowered his dark muzzle to the spring's surface. It was warm, at odds with the slight chilly bite of the wind, but the combination was pleasant — relaxing, even. He'd been a bit doubtful of it at first, but the longer he stood with his legs submerged in the warm water, the better it felt. The smell of mineral was strong in his nose, and cautiously he sucked a little of it into his mouth. It didn't taste like water, and with a grimace he raised his head a fraction and let it dribble out again. He wasn't surprised about it, though. He had expected it to taste wrong.

He wasn't that far out yet, but the ground began to slope at a steeper rate beneath him. The sound of her body breaking the water's surface, the slight grind of hoof against rock before each step found purchase had his ears flicking back, and soon his head followed. At first she seemed unsteady, or at least uncertain, but with each passing second she seemed to relax more and more. His grin grew softer as he watched her, the lights rippling upon the surface and reflecting in the wet patches of her fur. Where he stood he could feel the slight motion of water moving against his legs, pushed by her. The longer he watched her as she drew closer, the more certain he became of one thing: she was beautiful. She was not slim and slender, she did not have a dished face, or a traditionally feminine appearance — she had the body of a soldier, with her own scars to show for a life not yet half-lived. The second thing he became certain of was that it was, for the most part, a platonic observation, and a different kind of beauty than the white, deer-like mare of his dream had possessed. In this moment of discarded masks and bared soul, he could, almost, admit it to himself, but not quite — but he could admit to, apparently, finding red-haired girls beautiful. Good thing Ktulu didn't have red fringes.

His silver-blue eyes were drawn to hers, and for a moment he did not understand what he saw in them. The silver bits seemed to shimmer like stars without the aid of the sky, but then he recognized it for the playful, mischievous glint he'd seen in them a few times earlier that night. Once he had identified the look, his own eyes narrowed, as if to say I'm watching you, which was wholly ridiculous as she blinked out of existence in the next moment. Mauja's heart skipped a beat and he automatically shifted his stance to stand taller, firmer, all four hooves planted firmly on the slick bottom as he faced her. Nostrils widened and drank in the night scents, but she was so near that it hardly helped — the only thing it did was soothe the sudden fear that she'd never been real. Her smell lingered, and he could do nothing but wait.

The water surged when she moved, but how could that possibly help him? He had no inkling as to what she was about to do, and when she, apparently, crashed into the colorful surface he was helpless to stop her. Warm water rushed against him like a wave, slapping up against his pale throat and threatening his head; he'd flung it up, nose to the sky, and backed up a step. He wanted to say something, call her a trickster devil, but the only thing which came out was a laugh; he'd been intending to just wade across and explore what laid on the other side, if anything, but it seemed she had something else in mind... Narrowing his eyes at her again, now that she was visible, he mirror her move. Powerful haunches, together with the water, balanced his weight before he crashed down again, hoping to splash her properly. An eye for an eye...

Mauja Frosthjärta

His face, and the fact that he was drooling the water out, was probably enough to answer her question. While the mineral smell wasn't that offending to his nose (in fact, he found it quite soothing), it didn't exactly please his taste buds. Generations of survival had instilled a wariness of water that tasted wrong. It was how his bloodlines, and the bloodlines of most others, had survived. Drinking poisonous things wasn't healthy, and if you did, you got wiped out pretty soon.

Revenge was his, though, and water refracting the brilliance of stars splashed up against her neck and face. An eye for an eye indeed, and he grinned. It was, after all, nearly summer — no danger in getting wet, at least as long as he remained in the Basin. They had to dry up properly before they ventured outside, where winter still clung to the world. A quiet laugh matched hers, and he felt freer than he had for so long. Light on his feet, ready, he shifted a little from side to side. He was not used to moving in water, to feeling the constant tug against his body, how each motion was resisted. The water did not wish him to lean one way, but once he had begun to do it, it did not want him to stop either. Even if she hadn't been with him in the water, he probably would've been able to keep himself amused. When she narrowed his eyes at him, he gave another quiet laugh, not sure whether he should splash her or just let her be. Which would be the most amusing? Which did he want to do?

But the moment passed when her eyes changed, and, wondering what it was that had robbed her of mirth, he tilted his head slightly to the side. His long mane was floating upon the spring's steaming surface, and if it wasn't for the solemn look on her face, and the lack of stealth or charge in her steps, he probably would've skittered to the side to avoid her. As it was, he stood his ground, watching her with friendly, curious eyes. What drew her to him now? Only a few steps, and then she was there, white breath mingling with the steam as words came out of her mouth. Bleeding? One ear flicked back and he craned his head, watching as her dark nose reached out to lay against the white of his shoulder. It was soft, and warm, almost resting against the smeared, diluted blood. "Oh," he said with a small laugh. Mauja was so used to it that he barely noticed it when Irma hurt his withers anymore. Having talons meant to pierce flesh and steal life, it was no wonder his withers were a network of scars and healing scabs. "It's okay." Returning the smile he reached out to touch one cheek, trying to reassure her. "Irma does it all the time, I barely notice anymore. It's alright."

This time, black nose nudged white cheek, and Mauja's dark lips curled into a small smile. "Let's go clean it off," she suggested, or commanded, and for a moment he hesitated. Why not just dunk him in the water and be done with it? It wasn't deep, just fresh, and since he didn't care about it.. why would she? He was not used to being, in his opinion, pampered. Of course worried glances had been cast at him after the war, and the injuries he had sustained, but past that? With his glacial mask in place no one had questioned, or sought to help. Had they not dared, or simply believed him invincible? For a moment he closed his eyes, knowing that memories of those days were treacherous, for they contained the one he spent so much time trying not to think about. Now that he was back, he knew that he had to see her.. some day.. but not today. Not now. Opening his eyes again he shrugged slightly to himself. As long as Faelene's "cleaning it off" didn't turn into doting and treating him like a boy who had scabbed his knee, he guessed it'd be fine. Perhaps some part of him was secretly pleased she cared. Perhaps he just wanted to know what it was like, to have someone care a little for you. Flicking his wet, floating tail across the spring's surface he decided it couldn't hurt, and turned to follow her across the pond.

Mauja Frosthjärta

"I don't think that's Irma's handy work..." Her words made him pause, a slight frown etching itself upon his face. Did his mind not go beyond shoulder area + pain, before thinking "Irma"? Without looking he twitched his skin in the area she'd pointed out, and, indeed it felt a bit painful. Similarly he tugged on the nerves by his hip, which also smarted a little, but it seemed the skin there hadn't been scratched open. A small, dumb little smile came over his face, and he turned to look where she'd indicated again. It was harder for him to tell in the murky light, but maybe that darker patch was a bit of blood. "I wonder how I'm still alive if I can't even keep track of where I get hurt," he said lightly, trying to make a joke of it, despite the fact that it troubled him. It was one thing when half of his back was burned off and every nerve tingled with the memory of fire — it was alright to not be hundred percent sure of where it hurt then. But this? He gave his head a small shake. If he wanted to survive, he'd best start paying attention to himself again.

The water level rose steadily as they moved deeper into the pool, bridging his chest, rising higher. With each small wave they created it lapped higher only to pull away, the inch or so of wet skin suddenly deathly cold when the wind found it. Mauja followed close after her, his long legs stretching for the first steps to catch up, but then his pace matched hers through the sluggish water, nearly nose-to-tail as he wondered in what we she was going to "clean it off". Or where. In the pool? On the bank? Up on the other side, where he wasn't sure if they could get up over the rim? He cast glances at it through the darkness, wondering if that was the mouth of a cave, or just the far wall cast in shadows?

She stopped once they were almost at the other side, and he managed to stall his own movements before walking into her. Breathing in the warm steam his gaze flicked back to her face when she spun to face him, taking in her smirk, the relative lightness of silver bits in her eyes. At her words a laugh rumbled in his chest, and dryly he replied: "I'm glad you won't drown me fully." He could imagine it wasn't a pleasant sensation, lungs filling with water, the panic as breath abandoned you.. the shudder of your own heart in the liquid dark. Snorting, he tried to force the image from his head, to not imagine the feeling of drowning in something more tangible than emotions.

Now what? he wondered for a moment. She had led him here, to a quiet corner with only the stars for witness, joked about death and for a moment it was as if they stood upon the verge of something.. some decision, something monumental. As if neither knew what to say or do, breaths hitching in throats. Then, with a soft smile he saw but briefly before her head was beside him she moved forward, touching his bloodied shoulder again. Slowly Mauja raised his head, peering up at the stars with blue-and-silver eyes. Her breath was hot against his skin, mingling with the water. He could feel the outline of her teeth as she pressed against the scratches, working the blood away and leaving wet patches for the wind to chill. It was a curious sensation, an odd mix of being warm and cold all at once, and as he gazed at the stars he wondered what he thought.. what he felt... For he wasn't quite sure himself. The gentle care, the soft touch, it felt good. Mauja had always been a "touchy" horse, often bumping muzzles and playfully crossing horns, touching shoulders, but more than a season had obliterated the memory of touch from his mind. To feel another, living horse, its warmth, its presence, solidity... He closed his eyes, set his mind adrift, and savored the sensation for a moment.

A small smile began to form upon his lips, and opening his eyes a fraction he let his head lower. Her teeth were working on something, massaging both skin and the flesh beneath, and without thinking about it he put his own muzzle against her withers. Wet stripes of red mane hung plastered against her neck, more on the other side than this, and the mineral smell mingled with her own. Gently he lipped at the crimson strands, but then he forsook the playfulness for something more serious. Carefully, so as to not inadvertently hurt her, his own teeth began to rub against her withers. If it felt good for him — perhaps it would for her, too.

Mauja Frosthjärta

"Besides, I'm pretty sure that would be asking for a death wish, and I don't know if I'm more afraid of you or the other Unicorns...." Her theatrical whisper brought a grin to his face. If he didn't kill her, they would, eh? Good thing she wasn't going to try, then. Things would become so complicated.. so different from what it was now; relaxing, warm water and gentle playfulness. So easy, to just exist. So very easy...

The silence born from the absence of words claimed them, and in a way, he regarded it as silence despite the far-off noises of the sleeping herd, the gentle lap of water, the sounds of two living bodies. He had expected it. Embraced it. Invited it. But then, something had broken it, something subtle that he barely heard at first until it grew a little stronger. Its rhythm, its rise and fall, moments of pause, matched the pattern of her breath released against him, the small hitches caused by murmur and movement. After a moment he realized that she was singing, and his ears tipped back, listening. Barely more than a hum, snatches of a tune, yet it was the shadow of a song, sung for them. Something about it touched him, made him feel thoughtful although he didn't know what he should be thinking of. Sinking deeper into that, resting in soothing darkness, he let his teeth wander around her shoulder, moving slightly across her black skin. For a moment he had feared that she would shy away, but she didn't, barely twitched. It seemed that he did not have fangs, despite all the stories some told of him, and a small smile curved his lips in the dark.

It seemed so natural, to stand there in the water with her, close, quiet. He did not feel awkward, his thoughts did not run at full speed — rather, they lay dormant on the bottom of his mind, sloshing around gently but not raising their voices. In a way he did not notice at all when she moved, and in other ways he was very aware of it, how one region was bathed in hot breath one moment and cold air the next. His own muzzle had traveled from her shoulder further down her spine, his white neck extended to reach comfortably. The side of her cheek nudged him out of his trance, eyes blinking rapidly for a second or two before he pulled back, angling his head to better look at her. Her quiet suggestion brought another, wider, smile to his face and eyes. "Probably," he said, stars twinkling in his gaze, though he would rather stay in the embrace of the hot waters. They were soothing, pleasant, and the night air oh so very cold upon his wet skin, but wisdom won out. A small, content sigh left his nostrils, and without reflecting on it he tilted his head slightly when she pushed in under him, gently rubbing the side of his jaw against the ridge of her nose. He'd expected the same slow wade back to shore, but he should've known better. Truth was, he was still floating in that pleasant, dark space, remembering the touch of her teeth against his skin, and only when she spoke did he snap to attention. He caught a flash of mischief in her eyes before she was past him, working against the weight of the water to get to the steps out.

Laughing, mostly at himself, Mauja launched himself into motion after her. He was broader, heavier, generated more resistance. He'd never tried running in water before, not this deep, where it felt only like he floundered without getting anywhere; to push off a hind foot he needed to expend himself more than on ground, but yard by yard the water level sunk until he followed her out, not too far behind, heaving himself up on the edge with splashes flying everywhere. Water dripped off his mane and tail, following the clumped strands towards the earth, leaving a wet trail as he chased after her. Vaguely aware of his own thoughts, he realized that he'd decided life was quite good — at least tonight.

Faelene dropped to the ground in front of him, and he stopped, giving himself a vigorous shake like a dog. More water droplets flew through the air, shimmering like stardust. Then, the Ice King too bowed his legs, and fell to his knees, far enough away from her that they wouldn't accidentally kick each other. Lush grass and cool, damp earth cradled his white frame, and he winced under his breath when he realized he'd lain down on his smarting left side. One moment I'm white.. the next I'll be green and brown... It felt good to rub his skin against the earth and grass, to try and force what wetness out that he could, and as he managed to roll over on the right he lay still for a moment, peering at the stars from the ground. He couldn't quite pin his thoughts down, and gave up after a moment and clambered to his feet. Summer was just around the corner, but the nights were still bitter and cold, testament to the steppe around them. Mauja shook himself again, and this time dirt and bits of grass flew off too. "Brrrr." Going back into the pool seemed like a good idea, but there was one thing that seemed like a better idea. Dirt-covered legs drew him closer to her, muzzle extended to touch her neck again before he tried to step closer, to see how near she'd allow him to stand. In truth, he felt like rubbing himself against her shoulder just for the friction, but he knew that sometimes you had to approach cautiously or get kicked aside.

Mauja Frosthjärta