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.