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.
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