He had not seen any dragons, and that was truly disappointing. Argetlam had been looking forward to seeing dragons again, with their bright eyes and glittering, flashing scales, but mostly, he had been in excitement for their breath, their red and gold flame, flickering flame that curls and twists and is even more magnificent than their fierce faces. Every day he expanded his radius of exploration, just a little, until he had circumvented the whole of the Foothills territory without one single glimpse of a flashing fang or a flicker of a wing. It broke his heart, his big beating heart, especially for he had heard that the leader of the herd had a bronze companion. The stallion sighed softly as he moved in his rambling, shambling sort of way, continuing his fruitless search.

Despite the shortness of his stay at the Tides, he missed the sugar-white sand that appeared to be crumbled silver under the moon's soft exhale; earth was his home, his element if anything, but he found himself thinking that warm, packed dusted earth beneath his feet did not compare to white sands, even if there was plenty of sweet green shoots to nibble at. How strange it was, the ways things worked. On the shambler went, whisking his straw-like tail to keep the buzzing flies away, shaking his head on occasion- he didn't like hurting things, nor conflict, yet it bothered him, to have the pesky things all around, even though winter's embrace had only just left them.

Perhaps he had missed the ticking of the clock, but time had passed and he had found his path moving right along by a cluster of horses; one, two, three- a unicorn, a tree-horse, and a horse. How interesting, he thought, watching the leaves smile in the wind. Does she control the leaves upon her back? Perhaps he could ask the mare how exactly she had communed with it, or maybe if she controlled the movement of it. Or would that be rude? To think... maybe the earthy mare could help him understand how to make his inventions come alive, something he had strived for for many days and weeks and hours.

Argetlam is pulled out of his imagination of metal creations when the paint speaks about him being a mason. If he is a mason, he doesn't seem to know what he's doing. Then again, the broad, tall stallion usually doesn't know what he''s doing either. They could help each other! They could talk about the properties of metal- as Argetlam's leader, surely Aaron knew how to make metal inventions come alive? It must be some internal property that makes creations move and walk. Not talk, maybe, that would be a bit of overachieving- but who knows?! One day, perhaps.

"Aaron! It's good to meet the mason! I am your apprentice, I believe." Well, Argetlam didn't sound quite like that. He mumbled, rather, and his eyes were pinned somewhere on the ground, and he had a bit of waffling in between, those bits of breaths that don't quite fit anywhere.