A familiar yet rarely heard voice whispered through the forest and roused the dreamer from a light, restless sleep. For a few moments he felt disorientated, memories mixing with dream and reality and made him feel as though he was regarding himself from the outside, standing next to that lump of a body that cold and hungry stood leaned against a silver-veined tree. He blinked, once, twice, again and again until the dry, aching eyes finally grew accustomed to the pale light of the swirling mists that draped the barren canopies, shaking the head violently to make sure he wouldn't end up lulling himself back to sleep. A glance was spared the little dragon that continued to sleep on a branch above his head, and with a faint smile the grulla eased away from his resting place, careful not to wake the sleeping dragoness.
Yawning and bleary-eyed the glazier began to make his way in the direction of the WildRose, curious yet a bit tired of the constant call to meetings. It had been a lot of those lately, ever since the darkness fell - it was getting hard to keep track of everything that had to be done, who was pulling what strings and where he was supposed to lend his help. Lace was growing constantly more loath of the responsibility that weighed on him, he couldn't wait to place the burden of it onto someone else. Maybe then he would begin to feel happy again, like he had once so many years ago.
He arrived quietly into the glen and settled himself close to Smoke, nodding shortly to both her, Kahlua and the other arrivals. Without saying much he made himself comfortable, ears ticked forward and hip slanted in a lazy slouch as he prepared himself to listen - and perhaps even learn. How many times had he wished to learn more about herbs and medicine? Too many, made stronger every time he came across a soul that needed his help. From the broken wing of Svetlana in what seemed to be ages ago, to the less apparent illness plaguing the mind of the broken little pegasus he had met not too long ago, the silver-maned crafter knew that he had much to learn before he would be able to help anyone at all. It wasn't for himself he came to partake in the knowledge of the healers - he was safe, for the most part, regardless of his own will. Magic had a way of knitting his flesh back together, erasing every nick and cut that came upon his hide - only old scar remained, bearing witness to his history and long career as seasoned, very normal and non-magical warrior.
If only he'd been able to share that...
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[O] Useful Things to Know [Protectors, interested herd members]
