Argetlam was troubled, to say the least. Right under the muzzles of the Foothills not one but two members had been stolen- Romani and Willow. They were both good mares, powerful members of the herd in their own right, valued, trusted, and loved passionately by any who knew them. Any who didn't know them for that matter. Hardly had Argetlam ever spoken to them, yet they were his family now, more than Isdira or Ignasia or Arya even; this herd cared for him, accepted him, for who he was.
He tossed his head, ears pinning in annoyance, unlike his normal placidity and gentle, innocent way of going. It was a hot flare of emotion that reared up in him like a snake, and quickly eased. Argetlam let heave a sigh that made his ribs tremble and chest gasp for breath. Slowly he shook his head, and one he ambled, through the world of gentle greens and tall trees, of yellow sunlight and glittering dust motes. The summer heat was hot, near-suffocating, and the flies as constant as ever, but at least it was not pouring rain and thundering, cracking whips of lightning across the skies.
The crafter just didn't know. What was he supposed to do? Should he talk to Insanity about retrieving them through stealth? Or should a warrior challenge for them? But who were they even stolen by? Maybe he shouldn't be asking who, but why? Dammit all! My mind's too simple for this sort of thinking, Argetlam thought in despair, shaking his head as he lumbered ungracefully through the forest. Unbidden by him, unconsciously, his feet had him leading towards a cave in the mountains, a cave where he had converged with many others before to discuss the matters of a prisoner.
It was nearing sunset when he actually came to his senses before the cave made cooler from the shade. It smelt of Delinne still; and he cautiously entered. Maybe he just wanted to talk to somehow not so involved the herd. He wasn't really sure.
"Hello? Delinne?"
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