Fence had run from shadows before. But his had been true, breathing monsters; echoes of a past he'd never been a part of, but whose vengeful memories did not discriminate. Others had seen the faces of loved ones in the dark pits of the shadows' eyes, Fence saw only blackness. Now, as he ran through the fading light of the threshold, across dark lines stretched over a tangled wood and over bright flashes of intermittent light from between the trees. he felt that sort of terror again.

It became easy for him to forget exactly where he was, exactly who he was. Everything around him suddenly seemed a darker threat. Each tree, once towering plainly, now loomed. As his manicured hooves kicked up dust, tossing behind dead leaves and chunks of drying moss, he thought he heard the sounds of a chase. Now his fear was in vain, his flight from nothing but what his imagination had planted in his feeble mind. His gallop slowed as his strength ebbed, but until he saw the figures of the two mares before him. One, he recognized—the insistent white mare from the Assassins, who had seemed to make her way around these woods as frequently. The other was a stranger, sitting oddly upon the earth and yet seeming content where she was.

He stood at the edge of the scene for a few moments, gaining composure, before stepping out into the light. His heart still beat quickly, his breath still caught in his throat as he struggled to regain it, and his eyes... the light in them was still one ignited by worry. Yet he did what he could to regain some semblance of self and give off his usual, confident air. His ears perked to hear every word Accalia said, and with a faint snort that lacked no surprise, he noted how similar it was to how she had greeted the other mare. The Assassins, it seemed, were nothing if not persistent. Still, he refused to let his ill-will towards the band of outcasts show. Though they would badger and threaten those of his homeland, he was determined to take the high road.

"If it is a home you seek," the grey warrior began, his tones soft and kind as they struck the Orangemoon air, "Then I am certain that the warriors of my home, the Grey, would welcome you without hesitation to the safety of our herdland in the Windtossed Foothills." Even as he soothed his mind to recover from the stirring of old emotions, he knew he lacked no charm. He had always had a way with others, even if he had trouble remembering it. He reached into the void of a poor memory and grasped his own name tightly, lest is slip form his grip before he'd have a chance to introduce himself. But why waste time? "But, my manners seem to have gotten away from me. I rather think we're in need of introductions first," he nickered kindly, stepping closer to the mare, circling around Accalia and walking towards the stranger's left. "I am Lev Fence," he proffered, nodding his head slightly and letting his eyes light up in a faint smile.

Yes, let them light with cheer. Fear would be saved for another time.

The assassin's rude manner was not lost on Lev—he saw the look of what appeared to be disdain when he arrived, but he chose proudly to ignore it. He focused instead on the peculiar mare, who seemed rather nervous as her company doubled. Politely he backed away as she spoke, questioningly, of a home, and then lifted herself to leave. It was strange, he thought, how she ran from them as if they were a threat. But he recognized her timidity in himself. He, too, knew fear. He only hoped he could let her know in some kind way that he need not be the source of hers.

When she bolted off he followed at a slow and easy trot, not wanting to crowd her but still trying not to lose her in the threshold wood. When he caught up to her again she was not alone; Accalia had been more eager than he in her ill-mannered, hasty sort of way, and it seemed a pegasus, smelling of the World's Edge and giving off waves of authority, had joined them as well. Fence was aware that this was a recruitment battle in the making, but he wanted no part in it. He would keep himself clean, and with any luck, keep the mud-flinging from staining the newcomer mare's innocent coat as well.

"I am sorry, miss, I didn't mean to overwhelm you," he called, still keeping himself at a safe distance. Here, the shadow of the canopy put him in a state of faint uneasiness, but he limited the nervous display to a shuffling of his front hooves. Though he frowned at the dirt they kicked up, the calming effect of the motion was undeniable; he would have been a fool to take from himself such a strange panacea. With ears cocked forward and a slowing motion of his body as he found himself more soothed, he listened to each word the mare said to the other. So she fancied the forests, then? The foothills would suit her well, he thought to himself.

His eyes lit up and he let his lips part again to speak. "Perhaps a home can be found beneath the boughs of every tree, but a family cannot. If you wish to follow me to the lush herdland where I was welcomed when lost, then I can introduce you to my fellows of The Grey," he spoke, sounding confident and clear. "In no way would your life be restricted- you would be free to wander, but would always know that there was a safe forest home and dedicated family ever by your side in a time of need." His blue gaze was gentle, his tone kind and carrying a persuasive lilt. This was not about building strength in numbers for him, as he sensed it perhaps was for the Assassins mare, it was about genuinely wishing to keep the forest-mare safe. Fence knew the dangers of a life lived alone, and he wouldn't wish it upon anyone.

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Everything appeared to happen quite quickly around the trotter. The winged stallion turned to leave as simply as if he were merely a passing phantasm, drifting in and out of their lives, of their consciousness. Fence let distraction overtake him and let his gaze drift as the mare, the supposed object of his attentions, was overshadowed by the parting stallion and his splendor. He had an interesting technique, that one; Lev was left curious about what else the bay might have had to say. And his wings—shifted in such a way that Fence couldn't ever picture him taking wing.

There was something truly sorrowful about the gentle heart, Fence thought with a sigh.

But soon he returned to his duty and the lost mare who sought shelter. His blue gaze sought her mis-matched one, and in silence he reached out to her. Emotionally, that is. He knew better than to dare brush her side as confidently as he had Emerson's, and for some reason he lacked the strong desire to. He watched with warm confidence as the forest mare wandered closer to him and away from the white assassin, who still prattled on foolishly. He no longer acknowledged her; apparently she didn't understand that this was a battle she'd lost hope of winning.

And just as Fence parted his lips as if to speak, another stallion arrived. This one was stranger, darker than Thor, but still smelling of the same herdland. Everything about him screamed a threat to Fence. The way he spoke, alone—the manner in which he responded to and warped the newcomer's questions—put Fence at ill ease. Protectively, he stepped before the peculiar mare whose interest in the Foothills seemed to be growing.

"She'll find company and safety just fine in the Foothills, sir," he said, his voice taking on a sharper edge reminiscent of an older, long lost Fence. He turned to the strange mare, his focus clear and his voice firmly supportive. "A home you shall find, miss. Come, the nights grow dark early this time of the year, and it would be best to reach the Foothills before dark."

His ears flicked forward again; he hadn't even noticed them pull back as the strange pegasus appeared. He needn't stay much longer here, not if the mare had made up her mind. Slowly, he stepped forth towards home. Maybe, maybe she would follow. Maybe he would be the company she so desperately sought.