"Magic is little more than an extension of your spirit," she says. "I see no reason to avoid its use." Sunlight, it lifted her heart so greatly that it could be nothing more than a source of her soul. Not all magic was so uplifting, she knew. Some, much like Lace, would struggle with the gifts of the Gods. However, there is no denying how bound you become to your magic, and your magic to you. Severing the ties with the light had left her hollow. This could not be a sensation unique to her. No matter how Lace would wish to deny his magic, it would be there. "Like the shadows of your heart, you may wish to ignore it, deny it, subdue it. In the end, the shadows remain."

"They are only unnatural if you ostracize them. I believe the Gods could not awaken a power within you that was not meant to be," her eyes serious and calm. "Like my mother, I carry the wind, but my own paths have lead me into light. Oddly, I am most at peace with the power which came later - the more unnatural magic. I choose to believe that it was fate that I found the sun."

Smiling at him easily, Onni mirrors the golden light above. Lace himself is troubled, and the mare cannot understand entirely. "Perhaps, if you accept that it is no longer foreign but integral to yourself, you will be more at ease."

As Lace lowers himself to the ground, Onni remains poised. The healer is reluctant to act so relaxed in the company of a mere acquaintance. There are few in Helovia that the mare would consider close enough to flail about so freely with. Instead, she curls over to preen feathers gently, listening to the soft calls of Lyhty in the air, the shadows which dance along the swaying grasses from above.

When Lace speaks again, Onni glances up, her attention shifting back toward his face. His intense eyes are misplaced in the summer landscape, the dark of his face gloomier with each passing second. The mare had only seen Mirage a few times, but her mother had always been fond of the dark mare. The World's Edge and the Dragon's Throat were bonded for what seemed like eternity because of their kinship. The mare's eyes widen with surprise at the mention of murder; the girl had known of the Basin's hatred for many, but not of deaths. She is once more assured that the likely culprits behind Africa's missing wing were the northern unicorns.

Yet, somehow, the mare could not bring herself to be resentful. All she could see was the charcoal, goofy face of Carnesir. His accented voice, his kind eyes, and the swirling patterns at his hooves. The whole of the Basin could not be condemned for the sins of the few.

Lost. Looking toward Lace as he speaks of loss, the shaman frowns deeply. She had lost much, but never once had she given up on another while they still lived. "Can you not guide her back home, Lace?" she asks, her face thoughtful. "Solving such insults with kindness takes much more strength and courage than giving in to hatred."

The last suggestion served with a sheepish smile:
"Excuse me for being blunt, but she may just need a friend to kick her in the ass for taking the easy way out."