Vain, she feels, and yet in this private moment of soul searching she cares not that every trait belonging to her is spilling from her own lips. A wingless golden angel in a city of white, and yet she doesn't truly feel alone. Who misses her in her natal home? Does anyone recall her name, her presence? Friends had not been a part of her rituals, if only because they did not seek her out and she often found herself afraid to intrude. Far sooner would she choose the chill of the wind against her coat over the loneliness that had plagued her in the heat of the place she had called home most of her life. In a sea of blossoms she is a tiny figurine, stature naturally small yet dwarfed in this massive land she still finds herself lost in. Even so she does not feel the struggle for air like that of a drowning soul, and drifts in a haze of confusion and detachment through this world she cannot name. What is it to her, after all? Surely not home, and yet not a prison. Nor is it a vacation destination, or a rest stop on a route she never had planned. It is not the home of a friend or lover, nor that of a sibling or mother. Dancing lights overhead should not make her heart flutter and sing in praise and awe of this beautiful display, should instead make her feel trapped and isolated, yet she does not. Never ending landscapes of bloodless powder should make even the bravest creature wither in fear of becoming lost and forgotten. So, why doesn't she?

Oblivious to the other that shares her laments and presence, she brushes her pale aureate lips over the frosted surface of the nearest flower, and giggles breathlessly at the cold that melts upon them. A flurry goes up before her nostrils at this exhalation and it makes a mousey squeak of surprise escape her lungs, only to dissolve into giggles once more. Amusement replaces the weary, lost feeling that had her coming to the bosom of her Goddess that fantasy night. She is no simple creature in mind or mannerism and yet she wants to erase the aches in her breast, because there is no other around to help smooth them away. Or is there? Athena believed she was friendless, and though she was a bit hesitant to consider the carmine locked shadow that had helped her here a friend, the name of another floats temptingly on the edge of her mind. Mauja, though she is still unsure if he considers her the same. Would he allow himself to befriend a species below him, with a status just as lowly with the unseen shackles around her delicate ankles?

Perhaps her answer is meant to come tonight, for there is movement and sound that doesn't fit the wisp of snow on curling winds or shifting needles upon dark pines. Snow breaks beneath the forward push of another's legs, and deep honey and molasses irises flicker up curiously in their childish wide-eyed wonder at the purposefully striding bodice that falls within her line of sight. He is a mirage beneath the boughs, and had the first breath of his words not given her an area to search, she likely would have dismissed the shuffling of his hooves without seeing his flickering form. Previously her lips had been curved as if someone had taken a soft paintbrush dipped in glittering, muted sunlight and swirled the edges in her amusement. Now it is a warm glow, face brightening as a name is placed to the image he gives her, faint and illusionary as it may be. The haunter of her immediate thoughts, though Mauja does not haunt her as it may suggest. He is kind and mannered, in every encounter she has with him, and the word does not match him, for he is no ghoul or ghost with harsh eyes and no concern for the living. Crown rises, absent of the horn that catches the shards of the full moon's light where he stands.

Only once the words are fully spoken and free of his mouth do they click in her mind. Vibrant smile turns shy and unsure, unable to believe or accept such a compliment. In silence she awaited the gentle fall of his syllables, knowing in some instinctive way that there was more to come. Pale silvery blonde locks sway in the edges of her vision, wishing to hide behind them like some demure filly wishing to escape from the gaze of her Romeo. Modesty fits her like a well-worn glove, so romantic feelings do not flush her cheekbones with buzzing warmth or give her skin a pale rose glow beneath her coat. The strength that carried his sentence over the sea of silver separating them only made him feel that much larger to her, an all-encompassing presence that exceeded the physical difference between them. Again the soft shushing of the snow draws her mottled eyes and she watches as he moves forward once more. Attentively she pricks her ears and lets the cocoon of insecurity melt away once more. Smile regains its glow, even as confusion falters it moments later when he speaks again. Move, speak, stop. Move, speak, stop. He is no longer advancing, and yet she can't bear the frigidity in their distance, especially with the words he entices her with.

Instead, it is her who closes the distance. Each step is chosen and made with care, for she is in the thick of these strange, hardy plants and cannot breeze through them with the ease he displays. Befuddlement is a cloud over her features, but the happiness she displays at his presence is unable to be dimmed by it. Warm browns meet cold blues, and yet he still only strikes her as kind. After all, had he not just complimented her moments earlier? "Mauja," she greeted softly, smile teasing her maw. It was rarely ever missing, for she kept the seriousness unveiled this eve as close to herself as possible. Muzzle extended in an invitation, neck stretching up and out towards the tall brute without pressing the touch onto him or demanding one in return. It would be unfair to simply press herself to his skin without letting him choose to accept or deny her.

Greeting melted once more and crown tilted to the side, observing him in the same candid manner she always did. "I...I don't understand, Mauja. What is wrong with her? Am I doing wrong? Has she caused harm?" Anxiety laced her suddenly, chest constricting in fear that she had decided to follow in the steps of an ethereal being that had caused harm to her home. After all, she had been in the Throat during the brutality of the last Tallsun and the exile of the Sun God. Nervously she searched his face, completely bare to him and to all others she encountered. How easily he could shape her, hurt her, taint her. How strange that the only one who had even shown an interest in it was the Goddess they discussed in that very moment. Was it simply by chance and inherent luck that Athena had managed to slip past the vile forces that would prey upon her innocent nature? Or had all the small bumps been collected and turned into a massive fire that would ravage her in one fell swoop sometime in the future?