Mauja the FrostHeart
ice cold man watches earth die, eternal winter takes its reign

The heat made him restless, and it drove him to wander Helovia, defying the temperature and common sense. The Thistle Meadow was more like Hell Meadow, but the river still remained. He'd taken a much-needed rest in a cluster of trees, drunk his share, even rolled in it to get some heat out of his body. A cool thing he had always been, but this season defied his natural temperature and forced even him to grow hot. And he hated it. Passionately. Yet despite all of this, he was stupid enough to venture out of the shade, to go gallivanting around Helovia in search of.. what? Adventure? Answers? Guidance? The Moon had given him none when he came to the Heavenly Fields, and these days the place was likely so hot that Mauja wouldn't make it above the clouds without melting. Snorting, he moved in under the heavy crowns of the Deep Forest, glad for their protection from the sun's rays. This corner of Helovia was strangely untouched, and it was a curious thing indeed. Why? The Threshold was nothing but dry, so why was this forest spared? Cautious, for rumors of dark powers lurking here were abundant, Mauja glided into their protective arms like a wraith. His pale hide seemed silver in the deep shadows.

Without much plan or direction he drifted, drawn by something but not knowing what. It pulled at him, whispered playfully on the leaves, pushed and tugged when he seemed to stray from his designated path. Since he had not come here with a specific goal in mind, he was content to move along, drinking in the relative cool and watching the old trees with interested eyes. Some of the older, thicker trees had gashes, and, intrigued, Mauja drifted up to one of them. He blew air onto it, gently touched it with the tip of his horn, not breaking the bark, merely touching; he wasn't sure if he imagined it or if it was real, but it felt as if some ancient power still resided here... Something that slept, but sometimes stirred in the dark. Out of respect, he moved back a step. There was no point in meddling the darkness past. If it slept, it likely was not meant to be meddled with. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of place this had been.

The strange tug on his thoughts remained, and Mauja gave in to it once more, moving deeper into the strange old forest. As he neared the deep heart of it, scents came to him - there were horses there, and something that didn't smell pleasantly. He frowned. The vile stench wasn't the sweet one of decaying flesh, nor the earthy one of mouldering leaves - it was simply foul anyway. His path took him closer and closer, and as the trees between him and his quarry lessened, he saw quite the interesting scene. A pegasus mare, tall and thin and silver in the desaturated light, stood by a deep red pool; a thin, dull black equine stood nearby. The first mare had large bat-like wings, the second was just a plain mare - what caught his attention was the green-brown-slimy thing putting something in the second mare's mane. The creature was quite mismatched in appearance and emitted the vile smell, nor was it capable of walking straight. Curious despite its lack of appeal, Mauja drifted closer. There was something mildly charming about its thoroughly messed up appearance, but he didn't address it, merely allowed it to walk past and return to the bushes it came from. Blinking in quiet surprise he returned his attention to the two mares and the red pool. It was just his luck to run across two hornless in his travels, eh?

"Did you know that creature?" he asked them in a curious tone, moving his ghastly, sweaty self up closer to the pool. He was thirsty, and she'd been drinking from it, so hopefully it wasn't toxic despite its color. He perched at its edge, quietly saluting the old tree with his horn before staring at the water's red surface. To drink beside a pegasus... Ulrik would skin me! But it was with fondness he thought of the stoic engineer; Ulrik was a good unicorn, but had no taste for the game Mauja played, pretending to not be what he was. Mauja, on the other hand, enjoyed the game, and that was the reason he lowered his muzzle to the red water, whiskers brushing across its surface as he inhaled its scent. Precious stones glittered beneath the surface. It didn't smell of poison, nor did things around it seem dead - if it was dangerous, wouldn't the trees in the vicinity be twisted and dead? He gave the water a cautious sip, finding it cool and clear, tasteless; it felt good against his parched throat, and he first cautious sip became a much needed long drink.