She held her tongue behind him, nothing but a quiet, dark presence at the edges of his awareness. If not for the sound of his own breathing, his own heart in his ears, would he have heard her own life tick away to count the moments of silence? Maybe, maybe not. As it was, his own voice sounded rough and foreign in the silence, as if the merest tremor in it would shatter the world of glass. He was on thin ice, and with his sudden plunge into uncertainty, it felt like it could break under his feet any moment and send him into the deep, dark depths. Why did it feel so frightening, to probe the dark, tense mass that was his emotional center? He did not know what love was. He had never loved. Right? His eyes closed, his thoughts spinning fast, but not fast enough. It was like running through a dark forest, without a light, with jungle vines reaching down to tangle him, roots to trip him; running blind, away, wanting to get out, but at the same time.. intrigued, yet unable to stop. He heard her quiet reply, how she reclaimed the space he had put between them, how the layers around her voice fell away and bared.. the truth?

Why did her words terrify him? Why did they feel like an eagle's foot closing around his heart, the sharp talons reaching in to pierce the beating muscle and slowly squeeze the blood from it — why? When she had left, he had waited, but when she had not returned, he had moved on; and now he had left, but she had waited, and kept waiting. In his darkness he breathed, in, out, and tried to stifle the panic rising in his throat. Her face swam in front of his closed eyes, and no matter how he tried to force her down into the depths she kept eluding his touch and rising like light towards the surface. Forcing his jaws to relax, Mauja opened his eyes, some unreadable sadness in them as he slowly turned to look upon her, the midnight empress, their dark shadow lady. "I wanted to come home too," he said quietly, thinking of two vivid dreams he had dreamed when in that wasteland of time. But he couldn't say the words, to you.

He was not ready.

Slowly, he looked away from her again, but remained where he stood, by her side, yet not touching. So close, but so far away.. there was a war raging in his mind and heart, but he smothered it all, refused to listen. Instead, he just blinked rapidly, even though he had no tears to clear from his wintery eyes. "Because this is where I belong." Beside her? He didn't know. He felt like a thief, a cheat, but his heart kept up its beating, one thump for one life, another for a second; ironic, how even the pulse of life was dual, conflicted, but which one followed in the shadow, and which one was in the lead? Letting his head rise towards the icy roof he tilted his head, his white forelock sliding off his face. "You've grown," he simply said, wishing to keep the conversation at bay, the emotions outside, to drown out the sound of the howling wolves clamoring in his soul — he didn't want to feel the conflict, the rip, the tear, the forces pulling him asunder. It had been so easy to promise his life to the cause, to say for the greater good when in doubt, but when he stood at the crossroads, he found that he could go down neither path.