The grulla grunted something incoherent in response, agreeing to the statement and with little to add. He kept on rolling back and forth, scrubbing the back against the ground while releasing the fresh scent of ethereal oils from the young grasses. All but shivering from the pleasure of staving off the itch, Lace took his time and savored the comfortable situation. A spar, a run, the sensation of exerting himself without putting the life at risk... Add to that the rare company of a stallion instead of the normal pack of mares that normally swarmed around him nowadays, and life was glorious.
He only returned back upon his feet when a call from Azzuen invited him over to the river. Heaving himself up onto the legs with broken and crushed grass raining down from the back, he began to walk over towards the newly made friend with the dragon flying around his back, ears pricked forward and with the neck held low and relaxed. The water of the river was cold, the current strong; Lace took his time to ease down into the stream, sighing from comfort as the waters raised to envelop his sore body. Watching with amusement as Fajira transformed into a lethal sea monster that dove and swam around their legs, the Glazier took his sweet time grooming and cleansing himself, in a ritual so familiar that for a while he almost pictured himself back on the road. Ever wandering, ever fighting, always surrounded by stranger and resting after battles with gruff, hard-boiled soldiers, a stranger in strange lands and always prepared for the worst...
With a sigh he slipped out into deeper waters until only the head and neck rose above the surface, and turned to regard the pegasus next to him. Quietly the yellow eyes admired the massive wings, not for the first time feeling a pang of jealousy while wondering what it would be like to fly freely across the sky.
"I never understood why some hate your kind, or anyone with differences in appearance for that matter" he said quietly, washing away the silence with the soft tunes of the voice. Far more gentle than his hooves or teeth, the tone was thoughtful - almost dreaming.
"Is it jealousy, fear, or lack of understanding? Where I was born there was no magic, no pegasi or unicorns... The first time I laid eyes upon a winged horse I thought I was going mad, or had fallen asleep somewhere and strayed into a dream."
A faint smile tugged at the lips at the memory, somewhat lopsided as he remembered his own reactions.
"How has the Throat been faring lately? We don't get many news from the south these days... Do you have problems with the Basin as well?"
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