It was quiet. At first, he had not noticed it, but the birds did not sing. Had they been scared off by the battle? Of the screams of horses and the locking of limbs, snapping and biting teeth and flattened ears? Argetlam shuddered at the thought of the heaving body of chaos, body aching in protest to his quiver. How could he? He was glad he had been knocked out- it was blasphemy to... to fight, to destruct, to fight. Oh dear, he just said that twice. Truly, Isdira would've laughed at him for his peaceful thoughts. "I'm more the man than you, brother," his charcoal sister would snort, her voice full of black laughter. Black was a good way to describe her in general; Argetlam loved her, he truly did, but somewhere, mostly vaguely within him, he realized that she did not care quite so for him in the same way.

The Shire's dark silver ears twitched, his nostrils flared. A delicate scent, wild-scent but feminine, drifted his way. Twigs and leaves crackled, so softly, under white hooves. A mare appeared, fine-boned, a ghost nearly, with a horn as red as the blood clotting on his loin. Again he shivered- even blood he could not bear to look at, feeling it was just another symbol of war. This mare spoke coldly, with a rough burr of irritation, and hard laughter. Just like Isdira. No, he lied. She spoke evenly and quietly. Was it only his wish the Foothills were still alive that made her sound so different, however briefly? It was wrong of him to judge her. He knew nothing of her, simply that she wanted to provide for her family.

Argetlam sighed heavily, a deep sound produced from his chest in the clarion air, feeling vaguely as if he had lost something. He had no wish to serve war, however- the horses had dragons. A second had arrived sometime past, one who had been the group who had ganged up on him. Now that he thought of it, hadn't the first mare also... did she have a dragon? She did. Argetlam stared uncertainly at the silver and blue creatures, gaze flicking back and forth in fascination. He forgave them, as with their bonded. Family.

There was nothing for him to gain, however, by joining a herd of mercaneries and horses of war.

"I'm sorry miss," The great gray dapple begins, back to his soft words and gentle stutters, the slight gaps in his words unwieldy. He simply could not join war, and never fight with it. Creating a piece or two he did not mind, knowing it would make the user happy. To be wholly and fully serve it was beyond his peace loving mental capacity. "It was wrong of me to fight, when I search for a way to stop war completely. I will have t-to abstain from joining. F-forgive me. I will be on my way." One question he truly had was difficult to contain.

Where did they get the dragons? Or how did the dragons find them! Would it be rude to ask a question like that? He loved dragons. He could hardly pull his wondrous, youthful eyes off them. Oh yes, Argetlam knew full well the damage they could do. His back gave evidence to that. Yet still, he was hungry for his own heart-friend, one to cherish. What would Isdira say to a dragon with him? He wasn't sure... she would probably laugh, and shake her head. Never had she felt the fascination. Actually, come to think of it, in Dras'Leona he didn't think anyone knew about dragons. He had only seen them after...