Water that once crashed against her now flows within her, carrying with it the magic of the grove and its soothing light. Lace is inconsequential to her for the moment; she is a lover once spurned, one that knows the steps of a stallion's dance better than any other. Her deep eyes cast their wary glance upon him, her lioness' tail whips in warning. She will save him for later.
But for the moment she bows to Faelene, exhaling frozen stardust and breathing in life from the grove. "A mare as strong as yourself deserves something to show for it, Faelene," comes a voice, seemingly detached from the ethereal mare as she stands with lips tightly closed. She speaks into the minds of the pair with a voice that echoes like thunder yet whispers like a rushing tide. "I give to you a pelt of your choosing; a pelt which will forge for you the armor of kings." She seems sure and steady as he gaze catches the other mare's and locks onto it. There is a connection here that Lace is not a part of- at least not for the moment.