It was the silent, agonized scream of dying trees that roused him from his sleep.
Did you ever hear a tree cry in horror as its very life was sucked away, leaves shriveling and roots rotting at the mere passing of a mortal? Neither had Lace, and it made the awakening all the more disturbing. Because the sensation that oozed from the forest made his skin crawl, set the teeth on edge and made him push away from the flowering giant he had been leaning against, only to turn on his heels and run towards the borders. Fajira was, as always, more perceptive than him, quicker to react; when he was still blinking the sleep from the eyes and meandering around mist-veiled trunks, her white-scaled tail soon disappeared into the mist, leaving Lace behind to find his own way to the source of the unrest.
When he found it, just before the borders of the World's Edge, the fear of the trees became very reasonable indeed. This captive that Rishima somehow had managed to ensnare and bring into their home was very dangerous, and not in the normal cunning or well-trained warrior way. He reeked of death and corruption, spread destruction wherever he went and left a trail of whithered plants in his wake like a brown, shriveled scar through the woodlands. His intent was clear, undoubted, and there was no need for thoughts to pass from Lace to his dragon before she took action to prevent it.
Fearlessly she beat her slender wings and dove in to cross the path of the black reaper, inhaling deeply only to summon forth a surging torrent of fire that burst from her opened maw. A line was drawn, searing hot as it set the grass, the shrubs and a few branches ablaze, only adding to the chaos of pained wood. Fire was better than a dark plague though. Fire brought life once more, as ashes nourished the earth and invited new plants to the exposed earth. An opportunity for seeds to grow, herbs to develop... The speared prince of darkness did no such thing, and it was a shame that he couldn't be allowed to simply leave to take his destruction somewhere else.
Screeching viciously, daring the black unicorn to try and cross the flaming barrier, Fajira quickly retreated into the air, to keep an eye on the flames and make sure they wouldn't die or spread - and so that she wouldn't be struck by the lethal magic again. Once had been one time too many; she feared the General of the basin, and rightfully so.
The silver grulla had to swallow the taste of his own fear as he barreled out and blocked the path of the prisoner, ears flat against the poll and with an icy, determined look upon the face.
"You're not going anywhere, demon" he snapped, having no patience to form kind words or temper the tongue with this stallion. "Your freedom will be granted once the DragonHeart is safely returned to the Edge. No sooner, no later."
There was no room for discussion in his tone, nor was it mercy that sang in the creaking of trees as their branches slowly began to twist and stretch their fingers against the living death, frightened but forced to act brave under the merciless pressure of the Glaziers magic. He wasn't using it on the stallion; not yet. But if the wall of dragon fire separating him from the freedom he might hope to find on the other side of that border wasn't enough, Lace wouldn't hesitate for a second. Wood could be made hard, and it wouldn't be a difficult matter to form a lance from twigs and roots - more than capable of penetrating the skin of a rebellious unicorn.
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