He'd been ambling along — no, wait, that was a lie. It had been more along the lines of taking a hurried stroll out of the Basin to clear his head, as he felt a bit as if he was drowning inside himself. The capture had been smooth, but as he hurried across the isthmus in the slanting afternoon sunlight, he couldn't help but remember the anger which had coursed through him.. the reckless fury boiling his icy blood, the phantom fangs in his mouth and the desire to watch the steam rise from her warm blood into the cold, wind-whipped night. His withers gave a twitch. The air was much calmer today, the waves lapping gently against the nearest shore, a sound of peace rather than a maddening crash. Why was it that he could never quite decide what he was? Why was it that he could never know if he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, or a sheep in a wolf's? Was his true nature the gentle one, or the beast which lurked deep in his frigid soul, only sometimes coming out through the cracks in his skin? Or was he so wholly, deeply split down the middle, that he did not truly know? He had been more certain of himself in the past.. perhaps not of his actions, but of who he was. Of the masks, the deceit, the trickery, the arrogance of his bloodline. But now, he was not so sure anymore. Doubt had eaten at him, and then he thought he had known, but now he didn't have any clue at all. He lacked direction, pushed to and fro in the waters but never knowing which way to go.. which way he wanted to go.

But the path was clear. For the greater good.

Darkness fell as he entered the sea of lavender flowers, watching them as they waved gently in the light breeze. Tallsun was ending, cold nights and yellow leaves just around the corner, but the thistles clung doggedly to life and splendor and long days in the sun. Still, they bowed to the King of Winter when his knees pushed them aside, and their brittle stems snapped under the pressure of his hooves. It was not needless, deliberate destruction; it was collateral damage as the alabaster stallion moved deeper.

A sound, like something being ripped clean in two, reached his noise even as the ground seemed to lurch and lightning split the sky. Mauja abruptly stopped moving, and blinked the flashes from his eyes. What the? But there was no Irma here to scout for him, she was further away, leaving him to deal with his emotions alone, and he was stranded upon the meadow, unsure of what had happened. Lightning never came without storms and rain, but the air remained clear and oddly pleasant, so he was certain the source was nothing but magic. It had nothing to do with him. Shrugging, he set off again, walking briskly but heading nowhere. He had no plan, no aim, the only thing he wanted was to work it all out of his system. He didn't want the doubts, the confusion and uncertainty. He wanted it out of his blood.

Again, he was shocked into complete stillness, this time as a pillar of lightning roared into the sky, blinding him. With his ears flat against his neck Mauja snapped his eyes shut, waiting until no light tried to work its way past his eyelids anymore. Traces of the flash lingered upon his retina, and he furiously tried to blink it away, wondering what on earth that had all been about — and why he seemed to have been heading that way. Slowly unclenching his ears he glanced at the purpling sky, and the moon rising. Well. Seeing as he had nothing better to do.. why not stick his nose into something that was probably extremely painful and potentially dangerous? He needed something to rattle him out of his pit, and almost getting killed by someone wielding lightning would probably do the trick.

Picking up his hooves Mauja set off at a fluid trot, moving deeper into the bowing thistles, the yellowing blades of grass reaching out to stroke his legs as he passed. And then, he first saw one shape, which he recognized as the interloper from a few weeks back. He didn't bother glaring at her, and as she hadn't shown any spectacular shows of lightning back then, he guessed it wasn't her who had done it. And just a little beyond, he saw someone.. someone extremely familiar.

Someone who understood the cold of winter.

"You!" he called out, pleased surprise in his light voice. It was not an accusation, merely a slightly rude greeting, and as his mind spun back through time he remembered that the painted stallion was not so fond of rudeness. "I'm sorry, sir — I just hadn't expected to see you again." Seldom did the Ice King call someone sir, but he had always suspected the black and white stallion to be capable of.. extraordinary things, even if he'd never been given proof he was anything but a gifted mortal. Ignoring Aryel Mauja trotted closer, offering the semi-stranger a small, slightly abashed, smile, until he finally slowed to a stop and tilted his head, his white forelock falling to the side. "Was that you?" he asked, quite innocently, motioning up towards the now empty sky.