The world was falling dark again, and the Edge King had taken himself the time for another "training session" with his pet stallion. Dýr was a curious creature, one that kept Mauja's mind occupied at odd times - he was like nothing else the glacial monarch had ever come across, and the temptation of learning all his secrets was simply too great. What he knew so far, was that his word was law: he was Master to Dýr, and it was with a mix of apprehension and excitement that he shouldered the role. He was afraid to walk out too far on thin ice and have it break beneath his hooves - afraid that the pure control he held over the stallion would go to his head, or that he'd misstep in his handling. When he'd brought him home, an incident had been so close to occurring... A myriad of doubts and fears had hit him, but a single no was all it had taken to halt the destructive stallion in his tracks. "Drip drop" was the kill command, and somehow he'd instilled the fact that World's Edge meant friends, and thus no drip drop. It seemed to have worked from afar too, since Mauja hadn't brought Dýr with him wherever he went, and none of his herd mates had been found bloody and beaten while he was gone. It seemed that taking possession of the tengill, the rope, had been what it had taken to solidify his command over the creature, and releasing it hadn't reversed things to how they'd been before. Perhaps it needed to be forcefully taken from him in order for him to lose his role of Master. Mauja wasn't too keen on finding out.

On the whole, he wasn't quite sure what to do with Dýr. The stallion had some base urges, like eating, drinking and sleeping, but apart from that, his main drive seemed to be violence, but there was no pattern to it. He just charged, flailed, no finesse, no tactic, just a barrage of death wishes. In order to be useful, and to not get himself killed the moment war came about, Mauja had to teach Dýr some basic fighting skills, but how? He couldn't use the command drip drop, for fear of becoming the victim and losing the weapon he held in his power. It was a problem that he hadn't yet solved, and felt no nearer solving as he stood there, observing the fiery eyes of his pet. He seemed mostly disinterested in the world, the hellish light of his killing drive dimmed. The tattered tengill lay upon the ground; Mauja was too afraid that putting it across Dýr's back would be like giving him freedom, and besides, it would just fall down again when he moved. It was a pity he kept tripping on it, and that he never learned to mind his feet, but that, too, was a later problem.

A trespasser was a much more immediate problem.

"No drip drop," was the first thing he said, wary of seeing the killing light turned on in his eyes. Mauja sampled the winds, alerted by the interloper's own cry; Foothills. What on earth did one of them want with him now? He growled slightly, before shaking his head. He didn't want Deimos accidentally downing yet another trespasser, so he'd best get there first. Besides, the Conscript ought to be a bit more careful in the future. "Follow," he instructed Dýr, before setting off at a trot. The Gods had done him and his herd a great favor when restoring his forest, as the ground was once more dark and lush, soft, and springs bubbled with clear water. A thin mist crowded the forest floor, swirling around his legs as the stranger came within view. She was a mare, a great deal shorter than Mauja, but only slightly shorter than his pet. Grulla in color, with the characteristic white patches caused by scars - from their uneven pattern, it looked like burns. Upon her haunches crouched an adult blue dragon, watching his forest with wary eyes. Something hardened in Mauja's belly. Dragon. Fire. And why was a Foothills mare here, coming into his home so brazenly? If she had patience enough to call for them, why not just wait at the borders like a decent horse? After the incident with Ophelia and Ktulu, Mauja had vowed to never barge into anyone's home again, unless it was ridiculously urgent business.

"At least you've got enough manners to let us know that you're in our home," he told her flatly from the deepening shadows, slipping into view with the black stallion as his shadow. It was tiring, to have others slip into his home like they belonged there, and then having the guts to argue with his guards when they tried to push them back out again. Mauja's eyes were more tired than angry, but something cold and guarded lay like a shield just behind his lenses, masking more from slipping out. It wasn't for nothing that he was called cold and Frostheart; he wore an icy mask like a second face, but those who were not annoying often experienced his much softer, warmer side. "Who are you? Why are you in my home?"

( Monster after me. ^^ )

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His pet was learning, showing flashes of intelligence at times when in Mauja's company - like now, he picked up the rope and held it between his teeth, looking so pleased with himself that the King couldn't help a small laugh. "Good boy," he praised the dirty stallion, silently amused by his enthusiasm. Even his tattered tail was held high with pride, and a soft grin graced Mauja's face as he turned back to the way he was going. It wouldn't do to land on his face in front of the trespasser, now, would it? The warmth he'd shown Monster dissipated, replaced by an expression of neutral chill.

The mare didn't seem all that upset to see them, nor guilty about her rather blatant trespass. She just looked at him and seemed prepared to answer... when his pet made things take a turn towards something far more interesting. A clearly stallion neigh rumbled in Monster's chest, such a rich and exotic sound that Mauja actually turned his head to look at the black creature. What, he found Smoke attractive? He figured he should try to give him a lesson in racism next, then... Patient curiosity settled in his gaze as Monster proceeded with his attempts at impressing, pawing at the ground. Well, apart from his eternal mud spattering, he was quite the handsome beast. Slick black skin settled across a muscular frame, strong sinews and cords taut beneath his lackluster hide - Mauja arched a 'brow, knowing that the polite thing to do would be to tell him to not sexually harass the mare (and make her dragon set his forest on fire), but he was too curious to see where this would go to do that. A slight twinge of worry crossed his mind when the black stallion lurched forward, though he soon realized he had no reason to worry. The tengill did its job, tripping its carrier up and sending him faceplanting the ground. A fond chuckle rolled from his mouth, and as Monster gazed at him in confusion he reached out to give his neck a small nudge. "Someone else, later," he told him softly, knowing that he'd have to find a willing mare for him or face a potential wrath. Would Lotus be willing to have fun with a mindless stallion, just to sate urges..? Perhaps not right now... Just as a precaution, though, he picked the rope up, working his teeth around it until it lay comfortably through his mouth. It muffled his voice slightly, and usually made him growl out words, but hopefully it'd keep his pet from another attempt at courting their visitor. She probably hadn't come to the Edge just to get laid, after all.

Smoke the Wild Rose. Ah, the third leader of the Foothills, and the only one he hadn't previously met. So far, she seemed to posses a few more brain cells than Gossamer did, but whether or not she was worthy of his respect remained to be seen. A lot of the amused fondness he'd shown for his strange pet had faded away, replaced once more with his customary chill. And she'd come here seeking him? Well well well... That was all fine and dandy, he guessed, but he snorted a little all the same. "Had they found you before I did, they would've meddled more than if you'd stopped at our borders," he told her, his voice a blend of cold darkness and wariness. But, it was true. It was, however, more than likely she'd been denied an audience with him, unless the one who found her held enough respect for Mauja's foreign relations politics to grant her one. Ulrik probably would've sent her on her way and ruined his agenda totally, but Ulrik was Ulrik. Still, he ought to be thankful she wasn't pitching a fit about Monster... Not that he would've cared anyway, and he wasn't about to start either. Mauja gave the stallions a sideways glance, hoping he would contain himself until the promised later happened. That was a problem he could solve after dealing with Smoke, but one he had to solve all the same. "But, you have your audience," he continued, pale tail shifting against his hocks. "What is it that you wish to speak of, Smoke the Wild Rose?"

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Whatever had overtaken his pet seemed to have passed. And in a way, Mauja envied Monster and how he could shut down his drives at a spoken command. One moment he'd been willing to court Smoke, and the next, he was okay with just standing there, watching with that primal, unhinged emotion rolling around the rims of his eyes, like fire just waiting to erupt into a bright blaze. If the Ice King possessed such iron control over his urges himself... Then, perhaps, he'd never have placed little crystals of ice in Keahi's bloodstream, or planted his seed in Lotus' fertile womb. In so many things he had nearly complete control, down to the seemingly subconscious twitches of his hide or the flick of his tail, but those urges - those hormones - were not his to control, or so it seemed. So how come such an instinct-driven, feral beast as his pet could quench them at a single word? Mauja took his gaze off the mysterious stallion, returning it to Smoke, the wild rose seeking to, for a moment, grow in the loam of his Edge.

He simply shrugged at her comment. To him, it was a thing of respect not to go into someone's home - respect for the herd, the leader, their paths. What if he sheltered individuals who had suffered greatly from war, and suffered from great trauma at merely seeing an equine? As it was now, it wasn't the truth, but you never knew. In a way, it also had to do with safety. Monster knew that those who smelled of the Edge were off his drip-drop list, but what if Monster had come upon Smoke alone, and had felt the need to murder her instead of sleep with her? What if the Throat and Foothills harbored such unhinged creatures, too? (If so, he had to steal them, and make a collection out of them.) Still - this mare took Monster's attention with an air of bemusement, but he had a hard time picturing Kri just laughing at it, or Gossamer not flipping. For those reasons, he was lucky it was Smoke who had come here, despite her blatant trespass.

Mauja inclined his head slightly as she begun to speak, acknowledging her apology.. or intent to apologize; did this mean that she did, or only had intended to, but wouldn't? He'd heard about the hostility with which d'Artagnan and Kou had been greeted, and in a way, thought it was such a pity the Doctor had taken it upon himself to trespass - but even as their mission was stated, they'd been disbelieved, treated roughly. She spoke of racism and of someone called Paladin. He knew the name from d'Artagnan and Descaro's rundown of their mission with Nyra in Isilme, and guessed that it was the very thing of which she spoke. Still, he could hardly tell her that the Moon Doctor had participated in such an event, could he? Instead, he feigned a look of woeful weariness, ears flitting bad slowly. He looked softer this way, sad even. Racism, racism, racism... They tossed the word around without ever confirming their belief by asking him! He let his blue eyes slide up to hers, thinking that perhaps it was for the better that d'Artagnan hadn't met her then. His intention had been, mostly, what they had said. But then again... he tried to keep his tongue in check when he was outside of the Edge on missions, so if they ran across each other here? Mightn't be ideal.

"Racism," he growled around the rope. "My ideals. Invasions." Silky mane danced around his head as he shook it. "Sometimes I wonder if there's something about me that I don't know, some secret that everyone else knows." In all honesty, he was getting tired of being doubted wherever he went, as if the gods were playing some joke on him and sowing distrust in the hearts of everyone. "There's several of the equines and pegasi in Helovia with whom I am on friendly terms, Indy among them.. individuals who I hope I will one day dare call friends. Me and mine, we live here in the Edge - those who wish to live among others are free to do so in your Foothills and the Throat, so who am I to deny those of my kind who feel slightly less comfortable around the other species a home?" Mauja himself was one of them, and if you had the ability to look within his heart, you'd know he was racist to the bone, but it was nothing he'd ever spoken out loud to anyone beyond the trusted Edge racists. That they would carry word back to Smoke was so unfathomable that he counted on it never happening. "To be completely honest, I'm tired of this distrust. My ideals? No one's ever bothered to confirm it with me. I'm not kidnapping daughters and raising an army to invade, or preaching about supremacy, am I? I have offered peace to both herds, and yet I feel as if I'm always looking over my shoulder, waiting for yet another horse to spring at me and call me racist." Bitterness crept into his voice as he spoke, but it never bordered on accusing. Somehow, it felt good to spill all of this to Smoke, in the hopes that she had enough sense to understand that they saw "all unicorn herd" and instantly stamped him racist, without bothering to confirm it first. It was downright unfair, and if he could do the slightest thing to quench some of their suspicions, he'd do it. He just hoped she wasn't as suspicious as Kri was, that she wouldn't decide to distrust him just because he was a white unicorn. After all, he gave nothing away as to what he really thought about Smoke and her hornless kin.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking slightly abashed. "I guess it's been eating at me for some time."

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He'd hardly expected her to fall to her knees on the ashy ground and beg for His Holy Forgiveness, so the end result was pleasing enough. It was a start. That was the most important thing. It was not a promise to defend his name and his reasons, nor a foundation for any bridge; it was like the first smudge of pink on a pre-dawn sky, the hint of something to come. The sun always came, but with this he could not be so sure. Only time would tell if the sun would rise, or if it had merely been the last traces of its dying light.

Though, at one point or another, Mauja would tear it from the sky. Metaphorically, of course.

"And doubtless there are some in yours too, then," he said with the traces of a mirroring wry smile after her comment about having lived among them. So racist blood flowed in her veins; there was a certain kind of arrogance in the ideal, though Mauja could not for the love of everything understand why they thought themselves so great, these hornless vermin. He assumed it was very much for the same reason that he himself did, but once you went from the black and white reality of a racist into the gray zone of reason and speculation, you lost track of your own path. And reason, logic, we are one and the same, swallowed you up. He would not go there. He would relish the absolute and imperfect knowledge that he was better than the rest. Mightier.

Dangle information in front of Mauja's nose, and he's sure to grab the bait. Though he did know a fair share of the last days of the living on the shores of Anarore, there was a lot about that fantastical place which he didn't know. Many had come to Helovia from there, its past rich with secrets, plots and warfare. "Why not now?" he asked with open innocence, not bothering to hide his curiosity. "Surely you're not in a hurry on such a fine day." Finally giving up on speaking around the rope, mashing up his words and turning most things into harsh growls, he tossed a brief glance at his black pet before releasing the rope. Fondly he gave his muscular neck a muzzle bump, hoping the creature would stick around. He enjoyed the faint warmth coming off his body, and his silly, harmless antics.

Fortunately, they'd not had much of the dangerous ones.

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