The lightning stallion was nestled among the smoldering shadows of the tiny apartment. His dark bay body just a tail length away from brushing against the intruding sunlight within his home. The weaver positioned himself away from the sun's warmth, bobbing his head up and down as cotton balls were mended into fabrics for future uses. A stack of already peeled and available cotton resource stood beside him between two small boulders, who assisted the bundle from becoming unstable. He gently, as if it were precious china, placed a fresh piece upon his delightful collectibles. Retreating his chin away from the pile, he felt a sweat drop upon his forehead. Farenjer shook his head, blue and charcoal hair wavered in the air as he motioned to a stop and sighed.

How long had he been within his den? Farenjer recalled never leaving it today, not even for breakfast. He had awaken to the sight of last night's unfinished work and had decided to confront it and get it done with. He snorted at the thought as it crossed his mind. This sort of activity would constantly happen, which is why when he was an apprentice, he would be more nocturnal and roam the Basin at night. Such simple days those were back then, where everyday he would be at work in supplying Crowley with ready material for his textiles, yet now he had taken the brindle mentor's place... and he enjoyed it.

Bringing his attention back upon the day's work, he wavered his icy gaze upon the small amount left to finish up, and nosed the cotton balls he had picked within Thistle Meadows. He plucked one and began uncurling the dried leaves away from its wooly insides, before another presence seemed to break the always silent cave. "Farenjer?" The Weaver lifted his head and motioned around to face the doorway to his little home. He blinked for moments, clearing the pouring sunlight and nodding to the lit figure within the framework of the entrance. The stallion treaded closer to clearly make out Lena. A Basin mare that had greeted him one day as he approached the lake, and he had thought as friends since. With collected vocals, he rung in his masculine voice "Hello Lena."

He lowers his head to allow his horn to touch the dark mare's. Gently, in friendly manners to the friend. He lifts his chin once more, casting a curious gaze upon her sunlit form. "What brings you here?" He asks in an inquiring tone, before spotting her kitsune companion with something in its mouth. The stallion blinks and looks closer to see that the mythical fox carries a bundle of flax. His icy orbs spare another held gaze upon Lena before listening in silence for her unspoken words. A small smile pursing his lips as he waits.