Maybe Faelene should have been fearing for him, after all.
The sudden change from serene yet ghostly beauty into something akin to a demon of hell startled him, as the entity had probably intended. Yet within the startled fear there was also a grim sense of justification, a belief that he had been proven right; blind trust was never a good thing, not when it came to creatures of power.
Still, he couldn't help it. The voice, despite the words that wanted him to shout back when faced with their demand on humility, caused the elegantly carved lobes to fold back in a futile attempt at blocking out the voice from his head. Sweat broke out on the base of the neck, darkening the silver coat as he struggled against an instinct to turn and run away from this danger. Eyes rolled, tail snapped, but in an act of pure stubbornness the Glazier remained - not looking away from the hellish mare who had branded him as were he naught but a bull chosen for slaughter.
He was relieved when she disappeared. He was left standing next to the now armor-clad Faelene, legs trembling from the onslaught of pure will, chest heaving as if he had been running a mile at full speed. As if shot by a cannon Fajira suddenly burst into the glen, announcing her presence and queering about his safety in a cacophony of chirping sounds; she flew on and off around him, in tighter and tighter circles... until she suddenly was pushed back when the stallion reared with a furious howl and slammed the hooves hard into the ground.
"And that is precisely why I hate magic!" he snapped, a frustrated growl sprung from annoyance, helplessness and - yes - fear. "They come in, force their will upon you and then expect you to be grateful, without even once pausing to ask if this is what you want. What disrespect, what belittling? Why am I to crawl on the ground before someone who hasn't earned my faith, whose purpose I don't know and for a gift I never asked for?"
"IN WHAT WAY AM I LESSER THAN THEM!?"
Enraged and too worked up to even try to conceal it he bucked in a defiant kick against an imaginary enemy, then continued to paw the ground with his feet, biting the words off and spitting them out in the wake of the spirit - not really caring whether she still could hear him or not.
Seething, Lace began to pace back and forth before his sworn friend with a tail that whipped like ocean foam, not unlike an angry cat in the way the sleek muscles worked beneath taught skin for every long step, every impatient stride. He muttered to himself, cursing all fickle apparitions and self-righteous ghosts under his breath, before suddenly stopping. Soil caved in under his weight as he suddenly turned towards Faelene with eyes hard as amber stone and glowing with pent up emotions - smiling, but coldly in a way very few horses had seen before.
It was hard to rile Lace up like this, after all.
"And you know what's best of all? She didn't even answer my fucking question. Now I can't even be sure that this isn't some brand to mark me as the next meal for some rabid seadragon or whether its just meant for decoration. Decoration! Hah! As if I've earned anything, as if anything divine has anything to do with me. The thought is just ridiculous."
And then he had to pause, because the air in his lungs was running out. Winded and angry, he glared at the mare as if daring her to speak - even though he wasn't really angry at her, this time.
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