He knew well the haze of battle, the feeling of exhaustion, both mental and physical.. the desire to lay down and sleep, to forget the adrenaline, the sounds, the tastes and smells. He knew the exhaustion, and he knew the impossibility of it: you could not fall asleep on the field of victory, for there were always things to deal with. Scores to be settled, orders to be given, bodies to be taken care of (though it seemed no one had died today)... He knew it, and he thought he saw it upon her, like a cloak she wore against her will. It showed in the eyes of those around him, in their movements, yet she raised her head valiantly to look upon him as he approached. How long was it since he had met her? At the beginning of last Frostfall, when he had been miserable and injured, hiding in a cave while infection plagued him? So long.. yet his memory of her was near perfect, from her long legs to the blood-red fringes. Perhaps she was even more beautiful in life. Perhaps the lightly bleeding nicks only made her seem all the more alive.

While his initial lunatic's elation had burned out, leaving him more composed, there was something erratic and uncontrolled in him still. He felt his heart lurch when she smiled back, so easily, as if it was not a chore to come face to face with him again. Why would it be, though? She had been positive of mind last time, in that cave, but.. it had been so long.. and did she know that the reason he had not sought her out since then was that he had been well and truly gone? And not just, preoccupied with something else?

Did she even care about it?

She stumbled over her words, and looked away. "What else would I do?" he'd managed to get out before he realized what he was saying, and shut his mouth with a bit of an abashed look. Sometimes he should just be quiet, especially when his mind was not quite in complete control. A slight frown creased his face as he glanced around again, trying to take in who was near and who they were, if they mattered at all. They should not see him like this, so bare-faced and honest. Gradually the shield behind his irises slipped back into place, a lid upon his soul and his secrets. He gave his head a casual little flick, and the white veil fell in place as well. The less the world saw, the better, and gently he tilted his head back to watch Tinek come down. The dragon had once devoured him in a dream, but that had not been real, yet he couldn't help but wonder as he watched the silver youth who perched on her head in a such an offhand manner. After he'd glared at Irma in the sky he grinned, and Mauja tried to not count his teeth, or wonder how hot the flames from his mouth would be — not knowing that Tinek did not breathe fire at all.

She tossed the dragon back, and Mauja flicked one ear forward, too late remembering that the creature had smiled at him, and that he ought to have responded in kind. He tried to catch Tinek's enigmatic eyes as he sat on her back instead, and offered him a brief, crooked one, but his attention was drawn downwards, to the slight limp Ophelia sported. Only natural, yet a brief scowl crossed his features. She'd fought, she'd bled a little, she'd done it well, so why did it make him angry to see her hurt? It was nothing, really, she was standing, smiling, talking, not lying on her side in the dirt... "He did," Mauja said gently, flashing the dragon another look. The bent smile returned to his muzzle, a slight curl of his lip and a matching glint in his eyes. Though, unbeknownst to him, there was a slight hint of shyness in them, the thinnest of uncertainties — boyish, in some way, though it was soon replaced with a slight frown. "You did well, Ophelia. You did very well. You are a worthy winner, you and yours — that Jackal didn't show is on his head only." Without thinking he took a step closer, then seemed to realize what he was doing, and stopped rather abruptly. "The only thing you can do, is be better than him, and never let your herd lose alone." For a moment, his voice, his face, was harder, as his body remembered the pain and his mind the loss. They had been defeated, but he had been with them, suffered with them, and so, they had remained. They had a new home. They had prevailed, because he had not been a coward hiding behind the lines and hoping his soldiers would win.

She admitted to the one thing he had suspected, that she was tired, but he found he had no answer to it. If only — if only they had been alone, like in the dream.. if only things had been that simple. He hesitated for a moment, and his ears fell back slightly. There was no point in denying it, that he wanted to touch her, comfort her, shield her from the world which caved in, the reality, the aftermath of war.. wasn't it bad enough that he was already stealing her attention, when surely there were matters she had to attend to?

Who cares?

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice more of a rumble in his chest than melodic words spoken out loud, and with a feeling of recklessness, of the world either going on or ending, he took the last step forward to close the distance between them, to rest his soft, dark muzzle against her white neck.

If she was tired, then she could rest in his shadow, and he would keep the world at bay, keep her safe.
If only life was as simple as dreams.

( <3 Mauja says that if anyone disapproves of his flowers, they can go somewhere else because he does not care. xD )