The sun began to set again, taking most of the warmth with it as it slipped beneath the horizon in a display of fire and blood. Mauja paused where he was to look at it, the trees silhouetted against the sky. It'd been colder for a few days, no doubt because Orangemoon was approaching whether mister Sun wanted it or not, but it had had one very pleasant effect: mist blanketed the floor, swirling around his legs, little drops of water clinging to his pale fur. Once more his Edge was moist, mysterious, enchanted and secretive. Out here, near the western edge where he perched, the sun still held enough power to burn it away, but behind him it clung to the trees. A faint breeze stirred Mauja's raven feathers. It had been a strange sensation at first, the way they softly brushed across his arched neck, but now it was familiar, soothing, like the Moon herself was running her velvet muzzle across his hide.

He'd been gearing up for another Threshold venture when the view had drawn him in, and with a sigh of unfounded, confused longing he tore himself from it and began to make his way across his home. Dried grass crunched under his frosted hooves, and the snowbeast moved with an ethereal grace there in his home, only further accentuated by the mist which swirled around his graceful legs and seemed to dissolve his contours. He'd just entered the burnt part of the forest, a shadow of sorrow settling across his heart, when two foreign scents struck him. Frowning, Mauja altered his path in their direction, slipping closer. Eventually he found the two interlopers, though they were more or less at the outskirts anyway. What was surprising was their physical appearances; both were young, about the same age, and with young, he really meant young. Leggy and tall, with downy manes and short foal tails. Proud horns rose from their brows, and Mauja paused where he was, watching in silence. One was dark, nearly black, with patches of graying already visible. Hints of red sat in his mane. The other, he was pale silver, with accents of blue. How curious.

"Hello boys," he greeted from the fog's embrace, moving closer again, padding with easy grace and confidence. He towered above them both, but in two years he guessed they'd be nearly as tall as he - their long legs hinted about it. Mauja's white tail whispered against his flanks, and without thinking about it he picked his way around fallen branches. Time would wear them down, and they'd provide fertilization for what was to come. Still, it saddened him to see his home destroyed, and that it was the first thing visitors saw. "What brings you out here, to the World's Edge?" For it wasn't a place many simply happened to cross. The paths lead to nowhere, only certain death at the bottom of a long drop into the sea. Surely two so young had not come here to toss their lives away.

Memories tugged at his mind, an angry, hurt voice calling out, the sensation of having no breath in the lungs - and no ability to draw one, a constricting on the throat, something blocking the windpipe. Threats. Pure white flecked with blood-red, eyes of crimson, silver and blue; black and white, tipped in red. Mauja's gaze narrowed a fraction, and slowly the King drew in a deep breath just to assure himself that he still could. One of the colts drew himself up, pushing his black spiral horn towards the darkening sky. The one who would gray out, perhaps even grow white. One eye was crimson, one eye was silver, and his dark mane and tail were both dipped in red. Words washed over his ears as his attention turned, again, to the other - more discrete in color, eyes blue, hair tipped in blue. There were too many similarities to ignore, and even though his name tugged at his attention, he kept silent. If there was a link between these two boys and the mares who had so brazenly walked into his home and argued with his warrior, he had to be careful. They came from the Dragon's Throat, and he had no desire to upset Kri nor allow pacifist spies into his home. These didn't smell of the Throat, but the white mare hadn't either - but there was only one way to find out if they were truly connected... Their colorful fringes shouted it to his eyes, but he had to know.

"I am, indeed, Mauja," he murmured, a thoughtful guardedness in his icy eyes. Varath, and Vadim. He didn't know the names of the mares, but they had claimed to be sisters - at least the white one ought to be relative of these two, perhaps the dark one was sister only in name, united by common goal and platonic love. "Tell me, Varath and Vadim, do you have sisters? One who is pure white, mane and tail dipped in red, and one who is a black dun?" Information for information, he could bargain if he wanted to, but would not ignore their queries. Vadim seemed a lot more doubtful of Mauja and the Edge's glory than Varath did, who seemed to be starstruck by some child's fantasy or something. He doubted dishonesty lay in their bones, but if they had siblings in the Throat... Caution was the unsteady pedestal upon which Mauja's kingdom stood, and always he danced upon the knife's edge between peace and war.

"The Edge," he mused quietly, not sure what to tell them. He'd never claimed this place was great or awesome, and idly he wondered who preached such things. "Our land is blessed by the Moon, which I believe is something of greatness. But, ah, great?" Quizzically he arched a 'brow at them. "What makes a place great, truly? Its terrain? Its leaders, or the people within? Or the culture, the way of life?" Mauja gave his head the tiniest of shakes. "Greatness is what you want it to be. It is only great if you believe it to be so, and that makes it a highly individual thing." And he smiled, a small little smile that seemed to say forgive me, for my rambling philosophy.

Whatever their hoof stomping contest was about he could only guess, but it did strike something amused into his expression, although it quickly faded when Varath gave recognition at the descriptions. Ktulu he growled out, and it made the King fairly certain that he didn't like his sister very much. And that was very, very good, seeing as he didn't like her one whit either. Courageous, yes, stupid, yes. The other he called Ophelia, and Vadim interjected that she was, indeed, white. And she looked like their mother, except..? The blue-colored colt faded into what Mauja could only call guilty silence, and he filled it in with an arched 'brow at a few words. ".. except she has red fringes?" Most likely not what he'd been going to say, but whatever their mother looked like (or was? his gaze narrowed a fraction), these two colts had horns upon their brow. Wasn't that enough? Obviously they didn't like their sisters, and he hoped that dislike stretched itself on to others as well. "And, no, they don't live here." One of them barely lived at all, he fought the urge to add. Ophelia had had a very near brush with death when she'd upset Deimos.

Vadim seemed to just grow confused when Mauja started spouting nonsense, and he could've kicked himself. Most foals didn't have an appreciation for that sort of stuff, but he felt like a doe on slick ice when it came to interacting with foals. How to address them? What to say? Talk motherese, or treat them as grown-ups? Varath seemed to catch onto something, and proudly announced that he'd be great. It drew a warm slip of laughter from the King, but it was honest appreciation that lay in his eyes. "I'm sure you'll be. You don't smell of any herd, are you living on your own?" He couldn't have two such promising individuals run around on their own, now, could he? Especially not at such a young age! His pale head tilted to the side, curiosity sharpening his gaze. "What drew you here, to this place of budding greatness?" A small, soft smile played on his face. It was always useful to check the rumor mill, for who knew what had leaked out and flew upon the wings of birds? Perhaps it was something he would have to correct, in order to keep the blanket of blindness across the eyes of Helovia, until the time to rip it down with fire and blood had come.

They were quite feisty, these brothers. Kicking and squealing, biting, snapping, glaring, and he fought to keep himself from smiling. He had a feeling they'd not approve of it, though in all honesty, it was fairly amusing to watch them bicker. It nearly looked as if they tried to do it stealthily, so he wouldn't quite notice. Ah, being young... They presence made him feel old. Stoic and glacial he was when on official business, but there was a playful side to him too, a side that laughed and winked and spun among the trees. But now, he was just a creature of ice, standing in front of two foals that maybe would fit under his belly if they really tried. Though, he sure as hell didn't want any unicorn there. Not with their horns, sharp tips ready to slash open... He'd not seen many who had survived wounds to the belly. A horse's body had a hard time dealing with such open infections, especially in the stomach. Mauja blinked, trying to get the images out of his head, looking instead at Varath when he confirmed the red fringes theory. Whether it was true or not remained to be seen, but the fact that they seemed eager to accept it told that whatever else it might've been was nothing they'd want to let him know. And that was totally okay. Everyone had secrets. Mauja would find them out sooner or later.

Oh, they were on a quest for power? One cold 'brow raised as he peered at them, these two young rascals living on their own. Ambition. He liked that. At least, so he thought. Ambition, confidence. A dangerous combination, if you knew how to handle it. "And what will your powers be?" he inquired, curious. Varath seemed so sure of his thing, of being unstoppable, and Vadim pointed out that it'd been a month. Good. The metal of their souls were still soft, ready to be struck into shape on Ulrik's anvil. Malleable. The slightest of smiles ghosted across his face, something dark in it, and his head slowly tilted to the side. So young as they were, he assumed they were honest - unless they were freaks of nature, they should not have learned to so thoroughly mask their intents and curb the natural twitches of the body. He saw no guilty swish of tail, no restless stirring of ears, no quivering, rapid breaths. For now, he ought to be safe from treachery.

Evil people?

Oh god, who had they been listening to? Evil? He nearly laughed. Evil. Yeah right. Evil because they lived with their own. Evil because he kindly turned hornless away from their borders. Probably some Foothills asshole he guessed, fixing his gaze on Varath. "Fun?" he echoed, switching his focus to Vadim. Well, how on earth would he answer that? Was it fun, being a bad guy? Was it fun dancing upon a fucking knife's edge all day, just waiting for someone to push you so you'd cut up yourself and become a broken mess? He enjoyed the game, in a sense, but the stakes were high. It was a pressure, on him, all the time. "Of course it is," he found himself saying, giving them a conspiratorial wink. "There's so many interesting things lurking in the shadows, things you never see if you're not awake at night - things you never see if you're afraid, weak, or stupid." He blinked, owlishly. "But you're nothing of those, are you?" There was something vaguely sinister about him now, something icy, frigid, dark. Oh Mauja, corrupting the minds of the young. "So if you're interested in being one of the brave evil.. why, I'm sure that you'll become great, both of you."