Lace nodded with a smile and turned, carefully following after the painted healer. The ground was treacherous, roots plentiful and holes hidden beneath muddy brown water, deep enough to let you sink to the knee - or break a leg, if he weren't careful. Sure he had a healer with him if that happened, but if it could be avoided the stallion would rather prefer to never experience that kind of pain again.

The thought of Tor made him remember something else though, and after picking up the pace enough to bring him up next to the mare he opened the mouth, voice casual and calm as if they were walking across a sunlit field rather than through a potentially haunted marshland.

"Say Tor.. Do you think there's a chance you could show me some basic first aid tricks? I came across this pegasus a while ago that had fallen and broken a wing, and I've probably never felt so useless in my life. I mean, I've been injured before, lived as a merc and all, but I never payed much attention to what the healers gave us back then. As long as it stopped the blood it was good enough."

The topic was casual, as was their stride. He noticed her obvious unease, but didn't pay much heed to the sensation of something crawling down the spine. If something ended up being there, so what? As long as it didn't attack them it was just fine, and besides. Fajira was a perfect lookout, perched on her back and scouring the area behind them as they walked. She'd alert them to anything unusual...

Then a horrific, bloodcurdling scream tore through the quiet. It was so sudden and panicked that instincts kicked in with the stallion, making him start and leap to the side to get more room to move on; Fajira tossed herself into the air, exalted cry ringing out to answer whoever it was that called. Lace exchanged a glance with Tor, excited and wary at the same time - should they go?
But as the second scream broke the silence he felt he couldn't wait anymore. It wasn't the sort of scream that allowed you much time, and whoever called must be terribly young. It was the voice of a foal, a foal that was injured, hurting, frightened and...

He took off before the painted draft had time to say anything, sloshing and careening through the forest with Fajira by the shoulder, in the general direction of the voice. He didn't pause to consider the fact that it somehow knew their names, even though he weren't acquainted with a great many kids. And how would someone who was here before him know that he could listen?

Questions that would haunt him later, but for now only set the hairs on the back on edge, without really knowing why.