Someone came bursting through the grasses, probably startled by his call. Feeling another shiver pass through him, legs and soul trembling, he turned to face whoever it was and planted all his feet firmly. At least, he tried. His right leg was trembling, and after a few seconds he gave up and let it come up, the hoof resting its frozen tip against the warm earth beneath. What had he attracted now? He caught flashes of brown in the early night, and as he waited, heart pounding with adrenaline, she finally blurted out of the surroundings and stood before him. Tall, elegant, pale — long, slender legs fading into warm brown at the joints before becoming a patchwork of white and some dark, grainy tan. In less than a second his gaze roved from her bare forehead to her folded wings and back to her hazel eyes. She seemed worried, or just startled, and kept looking around as if expecting more, some assailant perhaps. He fought down the urge to laugh bitterly. If she knew... But of course, she didn't. Couldn't.

Mauja waited in silence as she looked around. There was little else he could do, and as another breeze made the grass ripple he shuddered. It was leeching in the warmth out of his sweat-soaked skin, and with no movement to pour heat into his blood he was rapidly growing uncomfortable. The physical memory of fire against his skin remained, a twinge to accompany the dull throb of the cut. She looked pristine in the cold light, and he felt dirty. He was dirty, and something about it irked him slightly.

Then she seemed to decide that no angry dragons lurked around them, and looked at him with simple confusion. She chuckled and asked a question, and he snorted, vaguely amused, in response. It was odd, how bright her muzzle was when the rest of her was so pale. "If I knew that, I probably wouldn't have done it," he responded dryly, a lopsided grin curling the corner of his mouth upwards. Truth to be told, the memory of fire answering his call instead of ice still unsettled him, like a lingering unease in the corners of his being, but he kept it down and away. There was no need at all to let her know he was worried. "Any guess?" His pale 'brows rose up, and though he remained stationary, his injured leg still held up, he extended his muzzle slightly and drew in the cool air. She smelled of sand, and he felt his heart skip a beat before settling again in his chest. Little as he liked the idea of trying to draw his magic again, least of all on himself, perhaps he would have to, since it seemed to have become the subject of their conversation.