There is a soft sigh and a gentle exchange of air as it draws from Faelene's lips and the mythical mare inhales her emotion. "A honey badger? Such a ferocious and apathetic creature for one with such a capacity to be noble," the mare replies with apparent worry, but forced compliance. The words that danced across the wind now wrap around the strange mare and take action, drawing from her back the hidden black and white pelt of a honey badger. She dips her head and graces it with a touch of her horns, casting magic upon it and bringing it up to dance. The pelt hovers in the air, seems to divide and widen; strip itself and mold itself perfectly. Stripes of white and black fur line and pad the armor, while a tough and leathery exterior of pitch prepares itself to face the wear and tear of Faelene's future. A special mask is carved from the essence of the badger itself, lined with ferocious teeth and parting at the point of the horn. There beneath the hole for the horn, where the leather curls underneath to match the outline of Faelene's protrusion, the mare places a special gift: a gem of her own. A round, midnight black stone set in the clearest and brightest of translucent yellows- the eye of the honey badger.

Water swirls within her ethereal figure and expels itself, carrying the armor to Faelene on a floating wave. It wraps each piece around her delicate body, soothing her with its starry cold liquid. The armor rests perfectly in place, and then the straps extend seemingly from nowhere. There is a snap of her lioness tail and each strip of leather smacks against its partner, knotting and twisting to fasten the pieces in their places.

Blue eyes smile with satisfaction and the proud head of the ethereal being lifts to admire her own handiwork. "A gift well deserved, but a dangerous one. Take care of it, Faelene," she whispers into the mind of the mare, this time making sure Lace can hear none of it. Her eyes turn to him, her tail twists in the cold air, and the earth beneath the stallion's feet begins to climb across his flesh in a driving force. It coats him, sending waves of warmth through his body and burning a dark symbol into his being. The dirt falls away with a flick of her forelock and the image of a tree- blackened and yet beautiful in its own right- stays behind. Her voice rings in his mind, gentle and wild; "Fear not, Lace- you were not forgotten." She speaks with a look of comfort, yet looks upon him with hardened eyes. A warning, perhaps; he will do well to treat his company kindly. Her voice in his thoughts makes this clear, the soft sigh of breath across her lips gives him no choice.