[ I'm sorry I keep writing giant posts sometimes. DDD: ]

She was terrifying; how could she not hear the fleet beat of his heart? How come she didn't know how he trembled within, a deer pinned by the unreadable gaze of a wolf, cornered by it's smooth advance? If anything, it was proof of his own resolve, that he had not lost all his touches. His body was still his own, doing the bidding of his soul, betraying nothing that he did not ask it to betray. If she touched him, perhaps she would feel his pulse rocking beneath his skin, but — he thought, that his eyes carried nothing but those hints of mischief and mirth, the traces of respect and intrigue, cloaking the vast depths.. cloaking the way he felt, as if the ground was slipping out from underneath his hooves, ready to tip him into the fiery pit. He was still the master of himself, no matter the words of d'Artagnan and Prometheus harassing him in the backdrop. This connection was still whole, flawless. The weakness lay within — as he already knew.

Kri had not picked badly when she made Sumati Chancellor. Much as he disliked it, he had to give her credit for that, and more so if she'd managed to bend this fearsome creature to her will. That was a question he would not ask today, but one he kept thinking of between his heart beats: is she loyal to Kri? For now, he had to assume she was, but all the same, did Dreven even know of Kri?

Best not ask about her yet.

Sumati's hazel eyes, both stormy and calm to him at the same time, were fixed on him with an intensity that would've had him blush if he'd been two again. Now, he simply bore it in a stony kind of silence, a faint smile of amusement curving his lips before his eyes dropped to the pouch she carried around her neck. A young bird stirred within, the sound not created by an owl's beak — that much Irma told him, having listened through his ears as her body perched upon a tree further away than she'd been in a long, long time. They both knew she would have to keep her distance during this escapade, even though it bothered them both. Interesting to find that they were not so different, Mauja and Sumati, both bonded to birds. Much as he wished to peer into the depths of the youngster's nest, he took his eyes back to the Chancellor's when her voice tumbled out into the night. Smooth, elegant, confident, yet it seemed it was she who rambled now. Was she nervous? Or starting to relax?

Still, he found he liked the way her voice sounded, the small nuances hidden within it, and he would've listened even if she'd said words he couldn't understand. But as it was, he did understand, and had to force himself to keep breathing evenly, because he felt like choking — amazed, and surprised, that something worked out for once. One step at a time... He did not want to lay his head in the dragon's mouth only to find she'd been playing him all along.

Their eyes locked, before his gently slid aside to peer into the darkness, the way her pristine wing was pointing. The Throat. He'd seen it before, walked its boundaries and conversed with Kri, and.. he'd seen it a lifetime ago, an ocean and a forest, the massive tree rising above them before the sandy floor eroded and the forest withered away. He knew more of it than Dreven would, and as he sensed her speech ended his lips curved into another small smile. He wanted to skip around in glee, and felt much like s self-satisfied cat, but he wrenched those emotions aside. They would be too out of place in Dreven, who was nothing but a rather quirky nomad, half-mercenary half-renegade, or something.

"I am honored by your offer, Chancellor," Dreven said, something more humble in him now, amazed that someone like the Sinbird would take him in. (Didn't she feel the wind of foreboding, the chilling touch of destiny crawling up her spine? Would she regret it, label it a mistake?) He couldn't see the outline of the Throat on the horizon anyway, so he let his eyes, enigmatic and alive in the dark, return to hers; she was clearly ready to leave, and he, so ready to follow. "And I will, gladly, accept." Would she think him weak, for relishing the prospect of security? Would she think a nomad weak, for relishing the chance to lie down and sleep guarded?

Not that he would; he was Mauja the Frostheart, and he knew more than one in the Throat who would recognize him. He would have to plan his words and actions carefully, and Irma would have to be his distant eyes, warning him when someone he could not risk meeting came too close. Oh, how he wished to leap into the fray, set his plans in motion, but there were things he had to do, slow steps he had to take — and speaking of that, he hobbled forward, barely twitching as the pain blossomed up again, flaring through his wounded thigh and into his brain. A mere wound would not stand in his way, not when so much was at stake.

Barely a moment had passed since his accepting, his eyes seeking hers again, the slight smile curling into somewhat of a grin, as if he said, for you. I'm sure we'll do great things together.

And then he waited, to either be led to a new home, or ridiculed for even attempting to play a game with the all-knowing Sinbird.
Fervently, he prayed for the former.