Voodoo was silent, his muzzle warm against Mauja's; blue eyes ran over the scab on his flank for the briefest of moments, simply taking in the aftermath of their scuffle. It didn't look – or smell – infected from where he stood, but you never knew. Still, he was somewhat satisfied he hadn't accidentally ruined the young stallion for life, which would've been quite a shame. He could go far, and Mauja would hate to get in the way of that – by accident. Now, wouldn't that have been a fine salt to rub into his metaphorical wounds?

Arathea's eyes disappeared from his view as she dipped her head down, and his own canted to one side, watching her curiously. Was it a sign of respect, as it was in horses? Silently he gazed at her, hearing her say she was not the Warden anymore, and in his mind he replied, neither am I King. That backwards flick of the ears, was it anger? Did they fall flat against her skull, or was her winter's fur merely making it seem so? Even as he listened he pondered the quiet language of her body, trying to find some fitting schematic, a way to read it without assuming she was a horse; as she got up on her gangly legs, he remained where he was, watching her come closer. His past dealings with her had convinced him she was, to him, harmless, otherwise he would've watched her with wariness, but now it was just with a silent kind of pity.

It wasn't her fault they had lost, really. Could he blame her for leaving, after they had been scattered, and thrown out into the snow? His head tipped further to the side, one blue eye peering down at the back of her skull as she let her hot wolf's breath brush against his chest. He wasn't at all sure how he felt about a wolf breathing on his throat, but figured the ease with which he could stab her put them on an even ground – and if it had been any other wolf than Arathea, he certainly wouldn't have let it come that close. Trust was something Mauja was still uncomfortable with, but just as he knew d'Artagnan would never kill him intentionally, he was fairly certain Arathea wouldn't either.

She had been looking for him since summer? It was oddly touching, and slowly he straightened out and lowered his head, muzzle-first, to lip comfortingly at her scruff. Her tail had begun to sway, and as all he could see of the wolf with her so close was her back and tail, he let his eyes follow the mesmerizing movement. "Indeed, here I am," he responded quietly, watching the sway-sway of her tail's tip. "And if you want to, you can be Warden again, but of the Basin instead of the Edge." Until the day we take it back.

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