það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir A wind bearing the cold of autumn crept up from the shadow, stirring his mane and tail as he waited, pushing against his rugged summer's coat but finding no entrance, no way to steal what sparse warmth the Frostheart had. Blue eyes blinked in the fading sunlight, and for a moment he raised his head up in quiet salute to the wrathful God. Without his warmth and light the Basin would be a lonely, barren place, and despite his deeply rooted dislike of the impulsive deity, he very much liked to feel the sun's warm rays upon his body in winter — or in summer, where winter was perpetual, heedless of season. Mauja sighed quietly, and gave his head a small shake. If the Gods saw fit to use and abuse their mortal charges, why should he not do the same? Why should he not take what they gave and offer nothing in return, leech off their powers and roll in their glories without a care? If he could only forget that the sun had wings and two horns and a fiery pelt, that the moon hiding in the night sky was violet and silver and deceitful, that the earth had a voice like thunder and time a fickle, callous mind... If only he could forget they existed, perhaps he could appreciate life so much more.

Sunlight glinted off the near-white curve of a hip, the frost on a horn, and Mauja's eyes found their focus again. On long, sturdy legs Snö came, not yet fully fleshed out as adults were, her bloodline evident in her natural grace and the hair around her pale cloven hooves. She was the daughter of kings and queens, and for a moment Mauja felt the old, familiar heartache, the desire to drown in the inky sea that was Psyche's soul and become nothing but a puppet, his sharp mind locked away behind the loving heart that would always beat for his children. Sometimes it seemed so easy, to just let go and sink and let her ruin the world while he became old in the mind and grew forgetful, blind to what they wished to cause.

But as if he could ever let go.

She'd never reach his height. She got that from Psyche. Her muzzle reached out and Mauja's extended too, the soft black brushing across her velvet skin and breathing in the scent of her breath. "Snö, my child," he murmured, wrenching all thoughts of Sielu smokemane away. Surely the varnish roan would see that, too, as betrayal, and their newfound peace would be shattered. Cowardly, weak, but he wished to cherish it while it lasted, and said nothing of that odd night with Faelene. Somehow, it haunted him worse than Lotus had.

And then suddenly she was talking, asking him a question, but not even waiting for an answer before a flood rushed out of her mouth. Mauja's clear eyes traveled quietly across her face as he listened, drinking in what she said and staring at all the details that made her his, from the blue of her eyes to the frost upon her horn. There was so little of Psyche in her looks... "I miss it ever day," he admitted quietly, making a move to brush his nose against her poll, curling his neck around her horn. "The trees, the fog, the distant crash of wave against rock, the smell of salt.." And his gaze slid out across the grassy slopes of the vale. "The Basin is a beautiful place, but it is not where I belong, odd as it is as I came from a place much like this." A small sigh made it past his dark lips, and his white tail flicked against his hocks. He'd been born and bred within the snow, but that cliff against the sea had stolen his heart and his soul. "And, my dear — never seek to rule with fear. Better have an army willing to die for you out of love, than those who would rather see you dead only so they can breathe easy." And that small, curved smile tugged at his lips, warmth flaring in his cold eyes.
þegar úlfarnir opnaði augu hans í myrkrinu.

það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir Sometimes he worried about her, that she'd grow too cold — but then he thought of Psyche, and how cold she had been, and how.. less cold she was now. Unforgiving, yes, harsh, merciless, yes, but she seemed to have learned things in his absence, when the mantle of leadership had been thrust upon her. When he had affirmed that she was still the Crux of the Plague, both of them had expected him to remain has Bane, adviser, guide, smokescreen for their activities. If he had not been lost, would the Basin had been given to him, to reinstate their places of leader of one thing each? He would never know, didn't want to ask — thought it presumptuous to assume. But it had done Psyche well, she had learned things he wasn't sure she otherwise would've learned. She had come to realize that terror was not the way to go, that there were more unicorns to care for than simply the warriors clamoring for bloodshed and supremacy, and somehow, in the dark of winter and the throes of spring, she had realized that emotions were not weakness. He'd been chock full of them upon his return, yet she had not scorned him, and as they had lingered after the Plague meeting...

Yes, Psyche had learned much, and had come a long way from the cold, cold mare she had been, but she was still a beacon of their ambition, the star which he looked to when he felt his own confidence waver. If Psyche had grown cold, only to thaw again.. perhaps Snö would be alright, too. A slight frown creased his 'brows when she stepped back gently, calling him father. He did not exactly wish for her to grow cold, to forget the meaning of her heart's beat, or the touch of a warm soul. Why could she not grow up balanced, the haughty arrogance of her race only strengthened, not hindered, by affection, devotion? Love was a fire, and could drive you to desperate acts, but upon a battlefield, it could be the weight to tip the scales. If his soldiers knew love, they would always, always, have something to fight for. It did not need to be one individual, merely a concept, something on the edges of their mind, and Mauja blinked slowly, listening to her words. It could even be love of a home.

The space between them felt colder, but he let it — her — be. There was no reason to force his flank against hers, to cling to her; she was not a thing to be kept, but a free spirit. Slowly his ears rotated back as she asked her question, before coming forward again. She did not wish him to lie, but he seldom lied anyway. Feeling ten years older, he heaved a quiet sigh. "Yes," he said after a short moment, his distant eyes pulling back from pine trees and fog-dewy grass to settle upon the snowy frame of his daughter. "I'll make sure we do." As for his rank.. the Moon had chosen him to be King, and his people had followed him; if he led them into battle, bled with them again, and emerged victorious, why would he not be King? Psyche could remain Lady of the Basin, a Dark Empress to rule the north, and he could one more walk the Edge like its rightful King. Giving her somewhat of a lopsided, playful grin he reached out to tug at her forelock. "And I'll only be King if the herd would still have me," he told her in a light voice, for a moment shedding the gravity of the situation. Given the startling amount of loyalty his old followers still had for him, that he would not be King seemed unlikely.

But then the conversation switched, rapidly, and he found himself growing stiller, as he always did when thinking. Was he proud of her? Of course. Why did she need to ask? Who knew. Tilting his head, his blue eyes sought for hers, open and honest. And he told her, "Always,".
þegar úlfarnir opnaði augu hans í myrkrinu.

það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir [ blargh sorry for the wait! ]

He wasn't quite sure what he'd expected, or if he'd even thought about it at all. It was so natural to him, to feel that unbreakable warmth whenever he looked upon his children (even if it sometimes made him want to frown with worry when they did questionable things), and to express it? He was no liar, and if he'd said anything else, he would've been lying. Still, the surprise suddenly so visible in her snowy face made his lips curl into a crooked grin. What had she expected? That he wouldn't be proud unless she slaughtered hundreds, and rose to a position of limitless power? Well — if she had, she certainly knew better now, and he chuckled quietly. There was a certain satisfaction in flooring your own offspring with a fistful of love.

And, she didn't quite recover from the emotional blow either. It wasn't her smooth, calculated voice that slipped out again, but rather a hesitating start, and a rather odd request and a jumbled explanation. His grin remained. Poor, loveless little daughter of mine, he thought, but with no real pity; he was not entirely serious. Snö was doing fine, but it certainly was amusing to seeing her like this. Gracefully Mauja drew a step closer, and brought his dark muzzle against hers in a gesture of comfort. "A fight, hmm," he hummed, flicking his tail and turning to observe the setting sun for a moment. It'd be dark soon, dark and cold, but movement always brought heat into the body. "Being able to defend yourself is always good. Even spies sometimes need to fight their way out. But, tell me, what is it that you wish to do with ice?" It had many uses, he wasn't about to deny that.

[ lmao wrote this while listening/watching to PSY's live concert, oh god the distraction. ]
þegar úlfarnir opnaði augu hans í myrkrinu.