Cool snow crunched underhoof, and the moon cast the world in silver light.

A shadow, a snow-wraith, moved with silent ease across the Steppe's frosty cover, his outline shimmering faintly. Ethereal, but mortal; white smoke rose from his dark muzzle with each breath, but otherwise, the alabaster creature gave away few signs of life. Frosted hooves met cold ground as he jogged along across the face of earth, nothing but a stray grain of sand in life's timeglass, a breeze upon their lifetime lasting a ripple that would, eventually, fade out. The world of today might know of Mauja, but would the world tomorrow remember him? Perhaps, perhaps not. It depended on how deep his hoof print would sink into the face of history, and on how deeply the blood ink sank into the pages.

He thought he was alone, but he was not. Moonlight glinted upon the shape of another, her body a cool gray in the darkness, though her mane and tail were considerably darker. The closer he came, the more he saw; the shift of color upon her slender legs, the dip of her nose, the rise of a straight horn upon her brow. For a moment, Mauja was torn between the need to fetch Angora, and the opportunity of recruiting; finally, he decided that she was in his path, and curiosity won out over duty. A deep nicker left him, a greeting, a warning, and slightly his path altered, his elegant stride carrying him across the snow.

"Greetings," he called when closer, his heart a drum in his chest, a countdown to chaos, mayhem; he was on a mission, but one without a definite timer.. a little detour, if he made it brief, was surely no danger, no issue? And so, the wraith drew to a halt, his enigmatic eyes glittering like the moonlight upon frost.

The night would hold far more than he expected — the fates would play so that Angora's blood would not be shed upon the isthmus later in the light of the moon, but the blood of someone else would take her place. As Mauja had lingered with Psyche after the meeting he had not been aware that the gray-and-yellow mare had listened to every word that had been said, nor that she had hurried away to tell the world. Therror seemed to regard him with a calculating stare, perhaps wondering whether his voice was that of one who had spoken within the dim ice cave, but the flurry of hooves behind him brought short any reply she might give to his greeting. Elizabeth, the, in Mauja's eyes, foolish Corporal was charging up, and started talking about weeding out the garden. With a cold face Mauja turned to peer at her, raising an icy 'brow in question. What was she talking about? By then, Crowley had joined them, asking where Therror was going in such a hurry, and Leyra had somehow materialized on his other side. On the horizon, he thought he could see the pale form of Lupus sprinting towards them, and he wondered if there was some secret they all knew and refused to share with him. His ears fell back just as Elizabeth made her move.

The sturdier Corporal shouldered the daintier mare in the ribs, sending her down on her side in the dirt with a thud. Lupus finally caught up and flashed in like a stray bolt of lightning, predator's teeth sinking into her shoulder before the stranger scrambled to her feet; her eyes showed the whites but she threw her head high in defiance, declaring to the night that their secret was no longer safe, that she would tell the world about them. Mauja felt as if a ghost had punched him through the chest and gripped his heart, even as Leyra's murmur floated into his ears.

Leyra. Shit. She wasn't one of the Plague. Luckily, Therror hadn't had the chance to drop the name yet, only that she'd tell Helovia — not on his watch. Perhaps, once, his fear of reveal would play out in their favor.

From the depths of his soul he pulled up his magic, its liquid cool seeping through his veins as he numbed Therra's tongue, rendering it a useless clump of limp meat within her mouth. No more words would be spoken from her, no more threats. "Patching up a leak," he told Leyra in a cold, emotionless voice, smooth as the ice and just as frigid, never taking his pale eyes off the gray one as she backed up slightly, working her jaws but not producing more sound than a whimper as blood streamed down her shoulder. "You should leave, Leyra. I'd hate to have to give you the same treatment." And with that, he took a few steps forward, slowly circling the defiant mare; she was terrified, he could tell it, because she knew that there was no way out for her. She was surrounded, outnumbered, and that realization gripped her soul, but he doubted she'd go out without a struggle.

The earth shuddered, gave a groan, and from its depths an ice spike shot into the air, its pointed tip shoving into the sky and glittering coldly in the moonlight. Therror gave a skittish jump to the side as it licked up her thigh, and Mauja found a rather grim smile upon his face; looking past the gray mare to Crowley, he gave the brindle a nod. While the Ice King would much rather just spear Therra's heart and be done with it, he had a notion that the others would want to play with their food.

And, he hoped, that Leyra was taking his warning and moving away. He did not want to have to kill her, too.

His kindness in sparing the mare for a few more minutes to give his fellows something to play with was wasted, as the Red Doctor drew up beside Crowley. Mauja gazed across to him and nodded, something warm stealing across his gaze in that cold night before his attention returned to the terrified, tongue-tied mare. But when her legs suddenly folded and she fell to her side in the snow with a soft thud, her face glazed over with something peaceful, he let his 'brows arch up. Somehow, he guessed his red friend was responsible for it, and it was only confirmed when the hellhound darted forward to sink his fangs into Therror's throat. Warm blood gushed out, spraying into the night with each beat of her fading heart. The wound steamed into the cold darkness.

Then d'Artagnan was close by, shoving Leyra aside, but Mauja just grimaced. "It's whatever now, she's dead anyway, she can't talk," he said grimly, a faint grimace curling his lips back. It wasn't that he detested killing (well, in a way he certainly did), just that.. it was so stupid. If Therra had just kept her ears to herself, this sticky end would've been avoided. But, as always, it was too late for that. His cold eyes fixed on Leyra. "Speak no word of this to anyone, except me or the Doctor. Now, then." He straightened up; Leyra had seemed different since her return, but if what she had seen would fester like an unclean wound, he wanted her to be able to let it out on someone — namely, himself, or d'Art. Maybe even Crowley. The two latter would just laugh at her, but that wasn't his problem. "I've got a mare to fetch." Smiling grimly to himself Mauja backed away from the dead mare, brushed his muzzle against d'Art's red hip before nodding at the others and moving away south.

[ Mauja out. <3 ]