He is angry because he’s known nothing else. He’s angry and doesn’t even understand what anger is, or that his anger is unprovoked and illogical. There is no outlet for him, or at least no outlet that he has found satisfactory to give him any kind of relief from the white-hot rage that boils in his belly. It is mostly stagnant, brought up only by minor inconveniences that seem to trigger such an eruption that it blinds him until it has run out completely, only to become still once again; then begins to bubble once more.
The only type of release that Maugrim has found has been, of course, his ability to manipulate water. However, even as his power grows and his skill becomes more impeccable, there is a darkness that haunts the edges of his mind that hungers for more. It simmers in the depths of his soul, untraceable at the moment, but lingers in wait for its perfect escape. Even the young boy has no idea that it exists; but all it will take is a single taste, a small morsel of power and control – for it to overwhelm and consume him.
He watches her, still breathless from his rampage. He hopes that he’s hurt her physically, that she’ll be wary of him and maybe even frightened of his presence. His dark eyes watch as the water that formed as wings against her sides fall thoughtlessly back to the lake, sending quiet ripples towards him. She apologizes and his face changes – though not in the way that one would expect (or in the way she may have hoped). His brows rise curiously, though the look on his face was no longer disgust and rage, but pride. Of course she was sorry. Of course she didn’t understand. Of course he was right.
And there in that fleeting moment as he stood chest-high in the stillness of the lake, Maugrim experiences manipulation for the first time that was not of water – and was successful. He could not describe the feeling it gave him, for he had never felt it before. Prideful, dominant, powerful… He runs his tongue over his lips, tasting not only water on them but also a hunger for something her unhappiness satiates momentarily. Worthless, he thinks to himself as he stares at her, proud of his ability to humble the filly in front of him and bring her down. The feeling her sadness gave him is the only thing that keeps him in her presence, wondering curiously if he could keep this feeling forever – or maybe even inflict more harm to heighten the feeling it gave him.
Maugrim thrusts his muzzle upwards, attempting to stare down at her from his angle. “It’s mine,” he says, his voice grave, in reply to her comment about enjoying the water. He leaves it at that.
She is useful for two reasons. One: the affect of her apologetic and sorrowful stare has not yet waned from him and his mind growls hungrily for more; he takes a step or two closer to her. He wonders if the feeling will fade. The thought terrifies him for a moment, and he realizes that he must make her stay here longer. She mentions a place, Pangea, though he flippantly dismisses the name. He doesn’t care. But then, in the same breath, she gives him more. Ocean.
His mind works quickly (he had never seen the ocean) and without skipping a beat, a smile finds his lips. It appears genuine, though the intent behind it was much more wicked than he seems. “Take me there.” He even pricks his ears towards her, harmlessly staring at her with wide eyes. Inwardly, he groans in protest. But he cannot (will not) lose the feeling that her submissive state gave him and nor will he refuse to be led to where he could practice his skill.
m a u g r i m.