Argetlam was troubled, to say the least. Right under the muzzles of the Foothills not one but two members had been stolen- Romani and Willow. They were both good mares, powerful members of the herd in their own right, valued, trusted, and loved passionately by any who knew them. Any who didn't know them for that matter. Hardly had Argetlam ever spoken to them, yet they were his family now, more than Isdira or Ignasia or Arya even; this herd cared for him, accepted him, for who he was.

He tossed his head, ears pinning in annoyance, unlike his normal placidity and gentle, innocent way of going. It was a hot flare of emotion that reared up in him like a snake, and quickly eased. Argetlam let heave a sigh that made his ribs tremble and chest gasp for breath. Slowly he shook his head, and one he ambled, through the world of gentle greens and tall trees, of yellow sunlight and glittering dust motes. The summer heat was hot, near-suffocating, and the flies as constant as ever, but at least it was not pouring rain and thundering, cracking whips of lightning across the skies.

The crafter just didn't know. What was he supposed to do? Should he talk to Insanity about retrieving them through stealth? Or should a warrior challenge for them? But who were they even stolen by? Maybe he shouldn't be asking who, but why? Dammit all! My mind's too simple for this sort of thinking, Argetlam thought in despair, shaking his head as he lumbered ungracefully through the forest. Unbidden by him, unconsciously, his feet had him leading towards a cave in the mountains, a cave where he had converged with many others before to discuss the matters of a prisoner.

It was nearing sunset when he actually came to his senses before the cave made cooler from the shade. It smelt of Delinne still; and he cautiously entered. Maybe he just wanted to talk to somehow not so involved the herd. He wasn't really sure.

"Hello? Delinne?"

Somewhere in the deepening darkness something stirred, and the dark gray stallion warily approaching inhaled sharply, breath catching. But it was just the mare, liquid obsidian, streaked with stark white contrast, eyes like crystal pools of water. Mares always seemed so seamlessly elegant, graceful, moving with beauty and a liquid-like ease. Was it because of their gender? Did mothers have a secret way of teaching their fillies to move so? No, Isdira did not move like the ladies in Helovia.

Her horn seemed to flash in the light seeping into the cave from behind him, and he blinked, momentarily dumbstruck by the glitter. She had been in here for longer than Argetlam realized- several weeks by now, certainly. And she was round... very round, plump around the belly. The big-boned draft had never seen a pregnant mare before, perhaps due to his natural awkwardness. He never seemed to really notice small details like that. Normally his mind just revolved around metal. How to bend it, shape it, create it, mold it, sift it.

Isdira would've laughed at him, incredulous her brother was this thick-skulled, but the charcoal mare was not here. Besides, she would've been scolding him, no, swearing at him like hell, about abandoning family, dishonor, disgrace... Argetlam shook his head miserably, trying to push away the thoughts of running away, fleeing the anger of his family.

Surprisingly enough, the black mare remembered his name, and put it to him in question. Did Insanity send you? Insanity didn't have the authority to order him anywhere, although Argetlam would've have done it if she had asked politely anyways- but that was rather besides the point. Wasn't the slender shadow here? No? Huh. The dapple gray thought she would've been. "Oh, no, Delinne. I'm just... well..." What do I expect from her? "Two of the herd have been kidnapped, and I don't know what to do, and I don't know why I came here, maybe it's because you aren't involved in herd politics. What should I do, Delinne?" It all came rushing out of his mouth so quickly he was slightly dumbstruck, and it keep going on, until the flood died away and he stood there blinking like a deer caught in the headlights.

It was, admittedly, bizarre that Insanity had dropped Delinne off and seemingly disappeared. Maybe the shadow was simply lurking... in the shadows. Argetlam couldn't imagine the dark, umber mare leaving the prisoner alone to her devices. Or perhaps Insanity was unconcerned with the affair, feeling that there was no chance of the obsidian-and-pearl mare escaping anyways. She would, after all, have to cross the entirety of the Foothills, and there were enough in the herd to keep her in check. Life could be worse for her; at least Delinne was safe from more dangerous predators out in the wilderness.

The blue-eyed mare watched him, appearing to be lost in thoughts at his scrambled, rambling words. Oh dear- was he making sense? Or did he end up, may the gods tell him no, mess up the words so badly it didn't (wasn't?) coherent? Maybe she was just thinking as well. Yes, she's pondering the matter, the crafter decided, pleased with the choice of words. Here in the cave it is quiet, in a slightly muffled way, as if in a tomb; outside you could hear the birds singing and warbling, but here? A plip-plop from the damp walls, the thump of hooves as Argetlam moved forward to a more respectable distance. Yet the quiet was interrupted by her words. What rank was he part of? He wasn't sure, to tell the truth. The Foothills didn't seem very organized, more of a mass of horses milling about. No, not a 'mass'- a small number. While he was a crafter, he was not a full-fledged crafter, (even though he privately thought he was more than capable of being a mason) but neither did Argetlam think there were necessarily apprentices. Citizen, he guessed wildly.

"I think I'm just a citizen," Argetlam finally responded, his voice sounding exceedingly eeyore-like, not that he knew what that was. It was just an expression he heard once a long time ago. Dumb, dopey, forlorn- all of those words. Despite his slow, deep tones, she offered him a bargain, a simple one; advice for what was wrong with her. Doubtfully the metal-bender glanced toward her belly, faintly tinged with red from the sky outside- it was very rotund, plump. "Well, alright. I think... you have a foal." Argetlam maundered doubtfully, sensing as if he was treading on treacherous ground. Wouldn't the unicorn know if she was pregnant though? It seemed like it would be hard to miss... a stallion mounting you. Or however you would want to put it. "Your turn."

The mare might've gone deaf. Or shell-shocked. Maybe heart-broken? Or deaf, blind, and non-scenting. What was the word for those who could not smell? He wasn't quite sure. In any case, Argetlam felt an acute sense of guilt, as if by declaring her pregnant he had caused it, while in reality he had never sired a colt or filly, despite growing older. Isdira would've laughed at him. "Single still?" She would've chuckled, with a toss of her charcoal mane. No, she didn't toss her head. Instead, she would've stared him down and turn away with a bit of a huff. When the dark mare finally did speak, she was stuttering, frozen. More guilty pangs. "I'm really sorry, Delinne." Argetlam apologized, shame-faced, amber eyes cast downward to the dark earth floor, turning near-black as the sun died a fiery death.


Much to his consummate relief, they turned away from the treacherous waters of the foal-world, and the thoughts it conjured up in Argetlam's rather thick pale skull, and instead she began offering advice for his predicament. Gather... a group of soldiers? First of all, the metal-bender wasn't sure there were any soldiers here. One of the mares stolen might've been a warrior, but he couldn't recall ever really meeting her. Neither had he met the herd leader, so he couldn't go asking him. Actually, speaking of which, he had never even seen the King of Thieves. Was he maybe away? Yes, the Chief must be away. Hopefully he would be back soon, and sort out this dilemma. Split the group in order to search for the thieves. That still didn't answer the problem if they didn't have any warriors at the moment. Maybe he should just leave it to the gods to sort out. Did they have any allies?

Argetlam scuffled his hooves, irritated by the confusion causing he was causing himself. Leave this to the actually important herd members. He was just an apprentice, even if he wanted to be a true mason one day. Unfortunately... Willow was gone. The Storyteller had been scarce for quite a while. Paladin was his name, right? Aaron. Yes, where was Aaron? He had to go find his mentor. Maybe he could bring up metal life as well when he was at it...

But first, he should probably talk to Delinne a bit more, just to be polite. "Uh, so, how have you been doing?"

The sun was nearing its end, the full moon beginning its ascent into the ebony sky, scattered with glittering stars. Argetlam felt weary, heavy, at the rapidly darkening home; his legs felt as if they were weighted, his head hurt from thinking so much about too many things. Not only that, but his eyelids drooped as well, and he stifled a yawn. He was tired; it was time to rest and sleep out under the open stars and obsidian sky, not time for idle chat any longer.

But for the sake of Delinne, who must be getting lonely and wanting company, he stays a little longer, the effort to stay awake growing in difficulty. Hardly does he register her words. It's strange, how the exhaustion came up on him so suddenly; only moments before he hadn't been even yawning, and now he was about to drop, lie down on his side and nap under the mildly warm summer nights. Of course horses normally slept standing, but on occasion for the deepest of sleeps one would lie down if they felt protected, and he certainly did in the Foothills.

His head, slowly lowering, does jerk up however at mention of something. Since practically all of the Foothills came to help invade my last home. What was she talking about? Aghast, he tried to recall if he had ever heard of an invasion. No, never. He knew there were several herds, and one homeland had only been recently created, but an invasion? No, he had never heard tell of that. How strange... were they hiding it from him, knowing his intolerance for war? Maybe others weren't aware either. Yet the metal-bender passes no comment, letting it drift away from him.

Neither does he say anything about her want for freedom, but he gives a slightly guilty flinch. "I'm sorry... but I think I should be off. It's getting late." He turns hastily, and disappears into the night with a concerned flick of his straw-like tail, pondering over what she has said.