Argetlam's heart is eased by Aaron's presence. Argetlam is not a warrior, and Aaron is, even if he is a mason of the foothills. Aaron is a trained warrior, a swift fighter and thinker, and he can uses his bulky body to his advantage, unlike the metal-bender who can but simply stand, not ever ready to go offensive. Yes, he has fought before- once. In the Moonlit Tides, he had tried his best to protect the herd, but very swiftly he was knocked-out and left floundering. But with Aaron, he is much more at ease, more confident, even if he still feels unseen eyes are watching and there are predators lurking nearby. "I'm so relieved you're here, Aaron. This forest is pretty spooky." The metal-bender comments, moving a little closer to the paint, and away from the crimson pool that gives him the chills.

Unfortunately for the dapple just beginning to calm, the sound of hooves set his heart racing against, a bump-bump-bump that accelerates into a pounding beat that block out all sounds as the blood rushes to his ears. Fear. If he were a dog, his hackles were be raised in terror, his tail would be cast between his legs. Is Argetlam a coward? No. But is he a brave stallion? Not necessarily. He goes through the motions, thinks over his actions, but he does not jump recklessly into things. Of course, the horse emerging does nothing to ease his concerns of safety and friendship. The stallion is altogether too clearly a warrior, a dark creature of cold finesse, a coat the color of blood he has certainly spilled and three black horns, sharp and cruel against the shadows of the forest.

Nevertheless, the unicorn rumbles a greeting, dipping his head to drink from the blood-pool. Argetlam stares, torn between fright and concern. Was that water safe to drink? Maybe it was just rubies on the bottom, but it didn't look healthy. It didn't have metal around it, in any case, and that was enough to set him away from it. What did they want here? What was the Gray? The draft shuddered, and found himself speaking anyways. Maybe Ailith had rubbed off on him with her unforgiving, confident ways. Except he still stuttered and mumbled. "We are looking for two mares of our herd that were ambushed a while past- a mare named Willow, tall, with a tree growing from her back, and a palomino, short and stout, named Romani. Do you know where they are?" Of course, Argetlam didn't know the Gray actually had them, and there was a plot behind it.