The darkness was both a blessing and a curse. In it, it was easier to hide, but the same was true for others. As the hours passed and nothing grew lighter, and nothing showed an end in sight, Mauja found himself trapped in a strangeness: it was not the complete dark that bothered him, but rather what it did to him. That he couldn't see what was in front of his face was irksome, yes, but the meticulous routine he'd created to both remain in Sumati's good graces and somehow undiscovered by the majority of the herd was slipping. No longer was it the distant borders he paced every once in a blue moon, but he found himself drawing closer to the center of the lands, the oasis and the fire. Their only source of light here was a towering pillar of flame, and one he yearned for, because it was light, and at the same time he feared it. Mauja was no friend of fire.

On the whole, he had adapted well to everything; his body had learned to deal with the heat of the southern climate fairly well, but when the darkness came and the sun went, everything went colder.

He didn't mind at all.
He was as ready as he would ever be, even in the blinding darkness, robbed of magic and with hope slowly leaking from his soul. It was, he figured, both the best and the worst moment, and frankly, he wondered if waiting any longer was going to do him any good. Sighing softly in the dark, Mauja lowered his head to snuffle at the thin cover of snow over rocks he knew to be red. Only the faintest wash of firelight reached him here, giving a dim outline to each contour but offering little clarity. No; waiting longer would do him no good. Waiting longer would just wear him down further, and increase the risk of being discovered. He couldn't have that. Not now. Not when he'd come so damn far.

It was disheartening that he called this "coming far", when he had once forced himself headfirst through life, battling aside any challenge that was laid in his path. When had he grown so brittle and afraid? The taste of it was sour and bitter in his mouth, and one frosted hoof swept across the rocks, clanging in the darkness.

Anyone could've made that sound.

"I need to talk to her, Irma," the pale stallion murmured to his owl, feeling her silent agreement slosh through his soul. It was one thing to simply do it, another to try and retain what he could of his standing with Sumati. They needed to talk. It was time he came clean with her, and with that in mind, Irma launched herself from his withers as they began to creep through the Throat, mindful of not encountering anyone but her.

[ @[Sumati] <3 ]

[ that's fine. ^^ ]

It was slow going, every sense straining in the darkness. Irma's keen eyes were next to useless in this strange setting, because even if nothing moved the distant fire flickered, and sent the pale wash of light a-shimmer. She had learned not to trust what she saw, relying on what she heard instead. Mauja's nose was better than hers, and together, they managed to make their way through the dunes. If someone saw the flicker of light on their distant shapes, they didn't approach; and if someone had, Mauja would simply had drifted away until the shadows claimed him again. Even so, he expected an outcry any moment, and all his plans reduced to dust, and ash, left to swirl with the sands in mockery of pristine snow. His ears flattened for a moment. What was he even doing here?

"Wayward citizens of the Throat, find light in my direction!" They both heard the call, and Irma wheeled in the air to better face the Chancellor. There was distance between them, and Mauja stopped for a moment, his grace lost on the darkness. The good news? He'd found the one he was looking for. The bad? She might not be alone, crying out like that. For a moment, he hesitated. Would it be better to wait, and try to find her later? His jaws worked soundlessly, grinding lightly against one another. Or would waiting just make sure she was surrounded? His tail slapped against his hocks, a hollow, rushing sound in the impenetrable night. Risks, he growled in his mind. You've grown old and cautious, Mauja. Come alive again.

And so, one hoof stretched out, came down, and his body was moving forward again. Irma's wings swept through the darkness, but she heard no one other than Sumati. Perhaps luck favored him for once, and he risked propelling himself into a trot, climbing the rising and falling sands. Still alone, Irma told him, circling above, and finally he "saw" her – as much as you saw of anyone at the outskirts of life. She was little more than contours lit by the distant fire, much like himself.

His gait slowed to a walk, and at what he figured was a respectful distance (without seeming cold and detached) he halted, and inclined his head. He wasn't sure she'd see, but it felt better to stick to protocols. "Sinbird," he greeted her quietly, mindful of what might lurk in the darkness and unwilling to let anyone creep up on them and hear what he, eventually, would have to say. "I hope you have fared well in this darkness?" He allowed the slightest edge of strain to creep into his voice; the blackness had begun to bother him, but in all honesty, he seemed to have an easier time simply accepting it than others. Either the sun would rise again, or it wouldn't, and it was easier to simply assume it wouldn't. That way, he wouldn't die a disappointed man if it never did.