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."