Sometimes it felt like he was spending more time in the Threshold than he did in his own home. He was always coming and going, at odd hours, never regularly - just when the whim took him and the sun wasn't pinning him to the ground with heat. Sweat lathered his body, darkening his white to a more off-white shade, and the frost normally covering his horn was running down his face in a lukewarm rivulet. Over the crunched grass the stripes on his hooves were visible, not covered by that guard of frost-blue. Quite naturally, Mauja detested it when summer's heat melted his natural defenses, but previous years he'd managed to stay cool enough and frosted. But previous years the Sun hadn't been on a rampage and sent Helovia's temperatures to the extremes. The monarch growled under his breath as he strode through the dying forest, sniffing the air every once in a while to see what he caught whiff of. Most of the time he left without having found something, coming away empty-handed. Sometimes he found things, and this turned out to be one of those times. He caught sight of a unicorn, and paused mid-stride as his gaze focused on it.

The first thing he could tell, even before its smell hit him, was that it was old. It showed in the slow, pained movements, the depression of his back, the too-visible ribs and the way his flanks had sunken in, leaving his hip bones protruding in a fashion that wasn't entirely healthy. Knotted, dirty strands of mane hung raggedly across a thin neck, limp tail dragging in the dust behind him; the need to care for, as well as the pang of regret at life's brevity, crashed in like stormy waves against a share. This was a unicorn, marked so by the lackluster horn upon his brow, an elder of his own race - tired, bedraggled, here in the Threshold, all alone except for the company of.. Onni? The tobiano pegasus suddenly showed up, approaching the elder calmly, and Mauja picked his feet off the ground and trotted over to the pair. "Onni," he greeted her warmly, a touch of fondness in his voice, before he turned his full attention to the stallion. His skin hung loosely upon his bony frame, but his violet eyes, hiding behind a matted forelock, stared at the world with something that most certainly was not a mind clouded from old age. There was a sharpness in them, as if only his body had failed him and not his mind.

"Greetings grandfather," he said respectfully, unaware of the ironic age difference - simply a year. Unaware of the true state of the creature. "I am Mauja, leader of a unicorn herd slightly northwest of here." His head tilted, and he didn't want to repeat Onni's question - it would be rude, like undermining her, and if this old man's brain was as sharp as his eyes, it could be taken the wrong way, as if he was a dumb creature that needed things repeated to him. While he was eager to bring the stallion under his wing and take him home for protection and nurturing, he didn't want to rob him of his will, steal away his choice and life by pretending he was senile. Instead he remained silent, watching them with blue eyes, waiting for the stallion's answer and trying to keep his wandering mind from painting a picture of the stranger in his prime - and trying to ignore the reminder of his own fragile mortality.