It was both eerie and pleasant to walk with two Gods at his back. For the foolish, perhaps it would be a taste of power, of control, but Mauja thought himself wiser than such. Still, it was a recognition of sorts. The Gods had put him on the Edge's throne and they knew his heart and his mind, and never had they stopped him, or ordered him to change. While all of the Gods bore wings as well as horns, he forgave them that; they were balance, and Gods. They could look like snails if they wanted to, and still be the three Gods of Helovia. They weren't mortals, they fell outside of the boundaries of his mind; surely they would be beautifuler with only horns upon their brows and heads, but they were not shaped as such, and who was he, a mere mortal, to tell the Gods that some of their chosen appendages were ugly? It wouldn't surprise him if the Moon punished him by giving him wings for a season if he did, so he kept his mouth shut, but other thoughts ran through his head like water. If they were of balance, yet not intervening with his Plague, did they find his quest to be of balance, or would the balance prevail as long as the Gods were three? Would they care, if the unicorns rose to power? Passion can be blinding, and Mauja believed in what he was doing: and thus, the most logical conclusion was that the Gods didn't outright disagree. He guessed they wouldn't approve wholly, but if they really were against it, they could just push him off the Edge and be done with it.

Walking with two Gods behind him also made him feel very mortal, very small, and very insignificant. The earth shook beneath the sturdy God's hooves, ripples and tremors, fond caresses; the wind sang softly, sighing, chiming gently, playing with their manes and tails and whispering in a voice that he could only hear like a faint echo, barely able to comprehend. Mauja kept looking over his shoulder, as if to pound the image of celestial Brother and Sister walking side by side behind him - he wasn't quite sure he wasn't hallucinating. They could easily just have gone to the Edge without him, or let the Moon, the land's patron goddess, take the lead. But they hadn't. In a sense, they had urged their appointed King to lead them, and he didn't know what to feel - dumbstruck, awed, proud, humbled? He gave his head a small shake, once again turning his head, this time to see the Moon hesitate and her brother urge her on with the touch of one large, thickly feathered wing. On the horizon, the World's Edge loomed, dark and foreboding in the pale dawn light. Stars were receding specks of brightness of a gradually lightening canvas, the dark of night pulling away to reveal a sorrowful truth: charred, burned trees, limbless and dried, stood like necromantic sentinels upon their border. Somewhere further in, Mauja knew a perfect circle lay charred into the ground itself. There, the Sun himself had stood and ascended to his throne in the skies in a pillar of fire, leaving a vengeful fire-dragon in his wake. The memory still made him feel bleak and frightened. Mauja was no friend of fire.

Earth said something quiet to Moon, and it seemed to cheer her up slightly, or at least harden her resolve. She said she would see to the springs, and disappeared into the trees, silver and lavender disappearing into the burnt shrubbery. He stared after her for a moment; ethereal and graceful, she seemed to be not quite touching the ground where she went. Mauja turned his head to Earth, pausing, too, with his striped, frosty hooves buried in ash. It swirled around them in the faint morning breeze, clinging to legs and tails, tickling the nose and irritating the lungs. In silent awe he watched as the God began to work. Black legs sunk, bringing the tall stallion down a few notches, yet Mauja felt like a dwarf beside him still. The ground trembled, not like a quake but like an excited tremor, and he found himself staring. The God seemed both concentrated and peaceful, working his life-giving magic on the Moon's ruined land. Black bark, charred beyond life, fell away, revealing a young, but healthy, cover for the trees. Accelerated growth caused their dead branches to reach for the skies once more, the leaves losing their shade of pre-autumn brown as water once more were sucked up through the roots. Moss carpeted the forest floor, the scent of fresh water tickling his nostrils; winds swept the ash out, thinning it, and the earth greedily drank it up, transforming it into nourishment. And so, the cycle was complete. Fire had burned, destroyed, and the remnants of it had given new life.

"Thank you," he choked out; one would perhaps have expected profound sincerity, but should one turn to watch the stallion himself, they would find none of that.

Upon Mauja's face was an interesting mixture - and gratitude, sure, after a fashion. He felt humbled, that the Gods would do this... perhaps as much for the Moon herself as for him and his kin, but they had taken themselves the time and energy to heal these broken trees and give moisture to his dry ground, expelling their power for this, the simple comfort of mortals. He had seen the destruction caused by the Sun, his unmatched power, how nothing they had tried affected him - feral, reckless, impossibly strong, he had reduced parts of Mauja's home to cinders. And now, he had seen the healing powers they possessed, breathing life back into the dead and stretching their branches towards the skies. There was beauty in it, in the process and in the result, and something about it choked up his words, blocked his throat, and brought a warm, stinging and wet sensation to his eyes.

How could he possibly ever put into words how moved he was, by witnessing their power, their capacity for kindness? It was just impossible, and his blue eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, took on a pleading cast as he watched Earth, imploring him to understand without the King's verbal explanation.

( apparently Mauja thought the Gods would just be like "lol endure" at their hardships until autumn xDDD )

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