Argetlam glances at her, shy as a filly fresh out of the womb, ears tipped into a relaxed position, one swiveled to her and the other moving on occasion, catching the sounds of the world around them; the crunch of leaves as a deer leaps away, tail flashing white in alarm; the steady, constant heartbeat of the metal in the earth, the chirps of the glittering birds. Looking back to his long, rambling sentences, he feels distinctly as if his words were simply a play, but not a fancy puppet-show, but one where the characters look the same. Of course, the metaphor for it is just as... scrambled, he feels. Maybe improper would be a better word.

Much to his relief, Ailith seems to understand it, despite the way the words meander and fiddle and hesitate, and offers him a smile that eases his fretting. The stallion is sensitive, caring, and totally, superbly not confident, perhaps his most predominant downfall; but Argetlam would rather be not-confident with many good traits than being outgoing with many bad ones. As much as that does not make sense... Even more so than usual his tongue seems a little twisted. Argetlam ponders the depth of her words in turn. I only hope that you could find as much in me. Does she put that much value into him? What did he think of her? Well... she was slender and pretty, and golden-coated, but somehow he felt that she wasn't looking for a mere description of her. Neither could he feel that he could offer her judgement until they knew each other better, in the strange relationship blossoming between them. The best course of action, the draft decides, is to let his sincerity show through.

"One can't make a split judgement Ailith. I, too, hope you can see... um... find... a lot in me as well," words scrambled; but at least he felt he got the meaning through. They saunter on for longer, Argetlam proceeding to his fumble-tongue descriptions of the driving force only created by oneself, and he watches her with his open eyes as the golden mare extends her neck to nip at a leaf or two here and there, and then they amble on in companionable silence. No, Argetlam ambled, back swaying, neck long and relaxed, at ease, and Ailith was small (at least beside him) and carried herself in a courteous way he wasn't sure how to describe.

Her eyes seem to grow a shade cooler, and his heart sinks in his broad gray chest as she speaks, frosty and smooth till the very end, where her voice pauses ever so slightly and she wishes him luck. In my endeavors...? What did endeavors mean? Maybe what he was trying to do. That's what it sounded like anyways. Sweet friend. Argetlam blinks a little doubtfully, and looks up at the skies, mumbling a little of indecipherably words. A moment or two later his voice grows stronger, a little more clear, never quite reaching loud or confident, but getting there. "Thank you. I know war will be hard to stop, if it can be... maybe I could slow it down one day. But so many are torn by war, and affected by it, and hurt by it, even the winning side." Regardless of crimes, none should be made to suffer by any but the judgement of the gods.