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