The disturbance drew him in like a moth to flame, some vague sixth sense of leadership guiding his hooves in the right direction. A breeze brought the smell of a stranger, and the one of Deimos - the King's walk became a fleet-footed trot, sweeping legs through a clinging mist as trees flashed by. Clouds covered the moon and stars in the sky, but still the deep shadows clung to him, a rippling darkness just vaguely perceivable that followed him, and silver covered the black of his pupil, making him seem blind. Mauja saw perfectly well, and he knew his forest, navigating it with ease. Some nights, he felt like a ghost in his own home, with most members being someplace else, seeking respite from the heat by going north, or just not being where he was. On moonlit nights he shimmered and glowed, and on moonless ones, the dark shadows hid him, making him seem gray.

"Introductions, Deimos," a foreign voice growled, coming from the chest of a young white unicorn. Red marked her mane and tail, a proud white horn rising from her brow. What business did she have in here, past the burnt section, growling at one of his loyal warriors? He did not know where she was or where she came from - she smelled of the forest with the blood red pool, and vaguely of something else that he couldn't quite place. Was it one of the herds? Someone he'd met? Mauja couldn't bother with remembering it, and pushed it aside. For now, he'd assume she was an outcast, but that didn't lessen the crime of her trespass. "I find it only fair to know who resides here among my own kind, and I have heard that this forest is beautiful." Fair? Fair? If so, it would be fair for his loyal Doctor and his nurse to walk into the Foothills, it would be fair for him to go gallivanting around in the Throat! Did they? Did they? No! Some asshat warriors had acted as if d'Artagnan was a lethal, contagious disease, vermin to be driven out, and Kri couldn't even look at him without her eyes screaming murder! So who was this nosy, upstart girl to traipse into his home and claim it was fair to trespass? If she had been anything but a unicorn, he would've screamed and run her through with his frost-coated horn in sheer frustration, but as it was, he tried to rein in his temper. A low growl rumbled in his chest for a split moment before it died out, and as she delivered a provoking comment about the Sun he slipped out from the embrace of the darkness.

Icy fury lined the cracks in his mask, something cold, unyielding, in his pale eyes; his head was carried high, grace and power leaking from his being. When Mauja was in a temper, he was terrible to behold - he did not scream and throw things about, but watched with a cold, calculating silence, the silent promise of murder in his voice. "You're in my home," he said, deathly cold. He brushed up next to Deimos, carefully keeping a few inches of clean air between them - he had not forgotten the warrior's warning, and even when breathing warm air onto his muzzle in greeting did he refrain from bumping. Respectful, perhaps, but also a clear indication that he would not give up.

"And you're being rude." Moon-covered eyes settled on her, hard, his pale tail flicking behind him. "Provoking. Like a vulture, picking at an old wound." Did she truly believe even the largest herd of mortals stood a chance against a God composed of fire? They could throw themselves at him, all at a time or one by one, and he'd simply incinerate them all, leaving nothing but charred, foul-smelling flesh and cinders to tell the tale of their bravery and strength. Muscles were coiled tight beneath his white coat, the sharp, strong edges of ice evident in every plane of his body; gone was the soft snow, the face that often smiled and the eyes that were warm. Only the harsh, strong bite of winter remained as he stared at her.

"Is that who you want to be?" he asked, demanded, of her in a voice that bore no traces of love and warmth.

It was as eerie, as foreign and fascinating, to watch her, as it had been to gain control of Monster. At his appearance she dipped into an elegant bow, arching her white neck and lowering her horn towards the ground. It took him by surprise, but all he did was raise a 'brow at her courtesy. It was, perhaps, the first time one had bowed to him within Helovia - and she was graceful, too, beautiful when she did it, her movements flowing. Beside him, Deimos stirred, and growled just as the mare greeted him with a gently chimed "Sir,". He felt the necromantic power shift in the air beside him, stroking his skin with hungry fingers seeking to get in, to slip inside and steal the breath from his lungs and the blood from his veins. He shifted aside slightly, watching the temper boil in the mismatched eyes the young mare possessed. Her provoking comment about the Sun making short work of their borders had already given him an inkling of a sharp tongue and a temper, so the flash of it across her eyes came as no surprise. But it seemed that Mauja's cold presence forced some calm onto the situation: she composed herself, reined in her anger, curbed her tongue.

While he did not approve of her brazen trespass and previous words, he did approve of her recovery. The apology soothed some of his ruffled feathers, and the hardness of his gaze softened slightly, but he was not any less vigilant. He watched her every move, like a hungry beast watching its prey, and he frowned. Memory bank? What did that mean? But she could not elaborate, because beside him, he felt the power shift in the air, a warning. Instinct caused him to backpedal rapidly, putting several yards between him and Deimos. Destruction, life-eating, spread out from him as he growled a command; it reached the white mare, gripped her, and her eyes went vacant as her body screamed. Mauja knew then that all Deimos had ever done to him was nothing but child's play, a warning, and a shiver traveled down his spine as the scene unfolded. Deimos, stoic, ashen gray, his long horn glowing blue, stood so calmly while destruction raged out from him. And the stranger, she fell onto her knees and crashed down on the brittle earth, ash marring her snowy perfection in a mockery of the King's own appearance; she writhed, she screamed, until she grew stiller and silent.

He knew, then, what Deimos was capable of.

"Stop," he said quietly, but the command rang through the air with crisp authority. He did not want the death of another on his conscience, but this had been warning enough - she had not done enough to die for her crimes, not in the moment of her retribution: of her apology. It could still have been salvaged... But he found it not in his heart to blame the necromancer for his deeds, for all he'd done was protect that which Mauja cherished the most: the Edge family. But should he ignore the command now... The monarch's blue eyes narrowed, his own darker magic held at the ready - ready to strike down and punish, should Deimos fail to heed his command. Within his own body, it gathered, a chill in the pit of his stomach. He would not give it away, would not tell that his magic stood poised to strike down one of his own. He did not want to do it.

Didn't know if he could. The stranger would be lost anyway, in the time it took for his magic to do its work.

With a silent sigh he released his grip on it, the chill leaving his body. "This is inconvenient. It'll be hard to drag her away." It was with a chilling detachment he made the observation, looking at her fallen form, but it was also true - it was hard to drag horses, and with a resigned sigh he cocked one hip and put the hind hoof on its tip. Nothing left to do but wait for her to come to.. or see if she'd slip into a coma or die, or if Deimos would kill her. There was, stupidly enough, very little Mauja could do if he chose to not listen to the order to stop.

And chaos in its most pure, most pristine, form descended. Hell swept in around their place in time and space, cutting off the rest of the world, watching as mortals briefly fell into pandemonium. Another mare, of age with the one laying limp upon the ground, swept into the scene. She smelled distinctly of the Dragon's Throat, and a single word etched itself in Mauja's mind: fuck. Darkness closed in on his throat, the next breath he intended to take never came - his windpipe felt swollen, closed, as if he was trying to breathe through a straw. A little air still slipped in, but the noise accompanied was wheezing, and for all his elegance and refined words, Mauja was nothing but a beast, a beast who knew all too well that he was being choked. There was little he could do against the onslaught of panic, except try to fight it down: he wanted to scream, for his pet, he wanted to order him to tear these unicorns apart, he wanted to send ice spikes flying... But all he did was stand very, very still, a faint rim of white visible around the blue of his eyes. Sides that should've quivered, nostrils that should've been wide open and drawing in deep breaths, were unmoving. Mauja was a true statue of ice, holding his breath and trying to hold on to his body, to his sanity, and not give in to the ocean of darkness that threatened to overwhelm him and send him into a frenzy of violent, panicked anger.

Deimos had heeded his command, which was perhaps the only blessing right now. The downed mare struggled awake and upright, in a commendable show of bravery, holding on to her sanity. Temper flashed in her eyes, and as the ability to breathe returned to the ice king, it started simmering in his eyes too. Who was she to lecture him in his home? Who was she to say any fucking thing at all? The second mare's interjection didn't help either, but Mauja fought down the snarl building inside of him. "If I lacked control, you would be dead," he told her icily. If she had any brain cells to rub together in that head of hers, she'd know it for the truth. Deimos had very easily downed her, and Mauja knew that he wouldn't have had any problem taking on Ktulu as well. That hellish power was what his warrior of death was made of, and Mauja had no interest in making idle threats. "And it is not exactly the height of politeness to come into my home and argue with my warriors without being invited." He snorted. Such fucking hypocrisy. If Mauja or his herd even went near the Throat it sent Kri into a frenzy, and in the Foothills they were greeted like enemies - and now they came in here, were rude, and expected him to just prance around, shitting flowers? He guessed that if the roles were reversed, Kri wouldn't have called off whoever was downing him.

"Such vindictiveness," he growled at them. "I'll not seek to punish you until the end of time for brazenly walking into my home as if you belong here, and yet you see fit to threaten me and my warrior for trying to get you out again." But he sounded more tired than angry. And in truth, he was tired - he was tired of dealing with trespassing idiots at odd hours, and then being blamed when they reaped the consequences of their actions. To him, trespassers in the Edge were greeted with the epitome of courtesy compared to the "welcomes" his herd got when trying to forge bonds with others. True, the first time in the Throat both he and d'Artagnan had went in of their own accord, but in the Foothills? He'd heard of that mission, and how they'd been treated. The time he'd stopped pretty much on Kri's borders, she'd still looked fit to murder him. Wary, tired eyes slipped to Ophelia, something akin to warmth, kindness, in them. He wanted to tell her that she should sleep, that it was the best cure when recovering from a brush with death, but that'd only reveal the fact that the King himself had been "burned" a couple of times. Never without good reason, but he had no desire to tell them of the complicated relationship he had with the conscript. Mauja's pale tail flicked against his hocks, eyes snapping onto the protective, choking sister. He disregarded her threats, not even bothering to address them. She, apparently, wanted to leave, and Mauja wished them both to be gone. They had no further business here. He'd see them to the borders, to make sure they really left, and then... then he'd have to figure out whether or not he was upset with Deimos.