Was it anger, was it sadness? It most certainly was frustration, and a gnawing sensation without name that everything had become fucked up ever since the launch of the invasion. Could he make that day undone? No. Did he want to? No. But he did wish for the outcome to have been different. Perhaps it would have been so much easier if he hadn't spoken to anyone but Mirage, if he had been blind and naive and simpleminded, so that he could hate everyone with a horn on their heads for what their kin was doing.
But he wasn't blind, nor stupid, and Lace wasn't one to draw conclusions about the nature of a whole from the actions of a few. That would place him on the same level as those mindless racists who lumped everyone together, forming a black and white world of "us" and "them". It was an unfortunate tendency for everyone who lived within a group, one he had been faced with from the day he was born - and one he had struggled against ever since he got old enough to recognize the pattern for the prejudice it was.
As he listened to his friend, the stallion was however forced to realize that his situation had become somewhat precarious. On one hand he was still Lace the Vagabond, the outcast rover who never stayed and never cared about race, loyalties or allegiances. That part of him wanted to nod and agree with the black mare, give her right and say he understood what she meant. It wasn't like it was she who had done the kidnappings, nor was she obliged in any way to help the Edge or those who lived there - because they had taken her home away, and no amount of smooth talking would take away that fact or clear away the guilt.
But on the other hand, he couldn't deny that he was Lace of World's Edge, the Glazier who cared for the friends and adopted family of the Qian. As a member of the herd, and especially as a high ranked member, he held a responsibility towards the rest, to make sure that they were safe, protected and provided for. Protect those who cannot protect themselves. That was the core of Qian, the rule of the herd he lived in, and it made his friendship with Faelene hard to explain.
Was he supposed to listen as a friend, or as a member of the Edge? Could he be both, without ending up betraying those he was charged to protect? Finding an answer was difficult, and the process of thought left him silent even after the unicorn mare - the Basin member - had finished speaking.
How should he reply, what was he thinking, what did he feel about it? He wasn't sure, and the uncertainty spilled over onto his facial features as the golden eyes turned to meet her gaze.
"Faelene, I..." he began with a tone that bordered on being pleading. But before he had time to finish, the rise of an apparition from the still waters of the lake caught his attention and made the words die away from his lips. Dark ears fell back as the hairs along the spine rose in a shiver, a confirmation that the pale shape of an armored mare was as ethereal and incorporeal as she looked.
He was clearly not the target of her attention, and for that the silver-maned stallion was very grateful. There had been more than enough of encounters with strange creatures for the past months, and the last thing he needed was another one to give him tasks and award him with gifts he wasn't sure he wanted.
Warily he watched the exchange between the Valkyrie and Faelene, remaining respectfully quiet as his friend was gifted with a magnificent armor, lined with fur and exuding a very capable look. It was clearly not a decorative piece, but one meant to be used.
Was it a hint? A sign of hard times to come? Perhaps it was just a gift, from a lonely ghost to an equally lonely mare torn between friendship and loyalties. Or maybe that was just him. It suited the dark-skinned mare however, lending her an air of ferociousness and competence that she surely didn't lack. The stallion nodded in silent appreciation, eying the details of the armor with the eyes of a fellow craftsman - one who meddled in glass rather than leather and steel, but a crafter none the less.
But when the ghostly horned lady turned her attention towards him and the earth suddenly came alive under his feet, the expression of happiness for the sake of a friend faded - hardened. More magic? By the gods, were he sick of it. The stallion tried to escape the hands of clay that reached for him, hooves trampling rapidly to carry him back, sideways - but even as he moved the earth began to coat his skin, gradually covering his body until he feared he'd be robbed of both sight and ability to breathe. The warmth was ignored, the soothing effects left without acknowledge. This wasn't something he appreciated at all - was the ghost trying to kill him? The thought of being pulled into the earth and buried deep below rock and roots made the eyes roll from fear, distracting him enough to dull the sensation of dirt against the skin.
Then the soil fell away from him and Lace was left standing with legs spread wide and flaring nostrils, shook up from the rough treatment that came with neither explanation nor consent. The left shoulder throbbed with a burning sensation as if a hot iron had been pressed into the flesh; when he looked down he noticed black strands of hair shaped like a barren tree where once there had only been smooth gray coating.
Bewildered, unsure of whether this was a gift, a curse or some other mark, he dared to look back onto the antlered mare. The hard gaze was met with one equally as hard, though perhaps not for the same reasons; her warning was unnecessary either way, since Lace wasn't accustomed to harming his friends - or anyone undeserving of it.
"Perhaps, being forgotten isn't such a bad thing" he muttered, giving the black mark on the shoulder a wry look. A few more strange marks, and he'd start look like a scribble board... "Might I ask what earned me this honor?"
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