Ophelia frowned patiently at Mauja's words, able to understand how he must feel to be loathed by so many. The battle against the Edge was joined by nearly every herd against him and his own. Did he deserve such a stigma for wanting to protect what was his? No. At least she thought not, and she offered him a sympathetic grimace and a soft sigh. "Cowards, indeed," she agreed with a whisper. "I do not understand why you are such a threat when it was your land that was taken from you - not the other way around," she murmured with righteous indignation. "Granted, your power and influence in most likely what threatens them; from what I have seen, you possess a natural charisma that attracts supporters with stunning loyalty."
Ophelia paused and her eyes widened for a moment, averting her gaze quickly from his. She found herself in an awkward situation where her true feelings and observations spilled from her mouth like honey. Rarely was she so careless with her thoughts, but around the Frostheart, she did not feel the need to be so incredibly uptight and guarded. Quickly, she adjusted the subject, complaining about how Jackal had not appeared for her battle. The weight of his disappearance still hung on her shoulders, and a dark emotion, akin to hate, bubbled in response to any memory of his name or figure. "My sister, moreso than I," she explained. "When she was still crippled, I shouldered her weight everywhere. Jackal, I believe, had affections for Ktulu; I tried to stay as far away from any of the childhood drama as possible." Ophelia had never truly fit in, regardless. She remembered that day on the beach where Jackal had nearly summarily ignored her in favor of her sister. How could she blame him? Ktulu was beautiful, bold and powerful, much different than herself and her strangely colored eyes.
She followed Mauja's icy gaze to a half-draft stallion who was laying on the ground, bloody. Ophelia knew the creature to be alive by the subtle rise and fall of his chest, but in the light, he looked to have reached the end of his life. Death brought to mind her father's family, and that reminded her of Psyche. She mentioned her jealousy at his claiming of the Basin, finding the snowy land stunning and perfect. Ophelia met his cold gaze and nodded, smiling a little. "The circumstances were not pleasant, but I did see it nonetheless." She said, thinking back to Tor selfishly throwing herself into their clutches and the blessing of angry faces that surrounded them upon her arrival. Mauja admitted that Psyche mostly won the land, and she smiled softly. "Regardless, your home is beautiful," she replied, trying to focus on the positives and not the fact that he was captured during the creation of the Aurora Basin.
Exhaustion came swiftly, and he stood as her shield. Ophelia embraced his touch, her cheek, though bloody, rested against his neck. She inhaled his scent that was familiar and yet new. When she had been in physical proximity with him last, the scent of char and decay had been overwhelming, and in the dream, the smells were soft and hazy. But now, she could palpably smell who he was. It was musky and masculine, but clean from the purity of the snow. Like a drug it soothed her senses and enveloped her mind in a cloud that whispered 'sleep', lulling her into unconsciousness against his spotted flesh.
Time passed, but how long? As she awoke, senses returned to her one by one. A steady humming of his pulse against her jaw roused a layer of fog, the gentle prickle of his fur against her eyelid lifted another, and finally, the warmth of his body and the rustle of reality pulled her further from slumber. Ophelia should have felt embarrassment, weakness at what she had done, but her emotions were steady and calm. Instead, a question gripped her, and she let it loose from her lips. His response was startling in comparison to their previous state of relaxation, and she furrowed her brows more deeply, taking a step closer and attempting to soothe him by touching her muzzle to his. Black nearly obliterated the blue of his eyes, and she listened, hearing his words clash against her own memories. Ophelia shook her head, frowning.
"I remember differently. I stood on the edge of a chasm that parted us, and with only your last words of 'I have damned myself' did you fall. For a long time, I waited at the mouth of the hole, but I was unable to follow. I woke up moments later," she explained, able to recall every detail perfectly. Backtracking from that moment to their walk in the cave was like living a dream all over again. Ophelia frowned. "I would never run from you." She promised.
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