Elven form shifted subtly, barely noticable once again. His orbs drifted between both, silent . . . unchanging except for when Hinault spoke of his fading hope. A stubborn streak of his own swept through him.

"I believe that though you may be in a state of mourning, you have the skills needed to lead an army. Push her behind you for the time, perhaps in later days we shall have such time to look back. Though you loved her, she was nothing but decietful to you . . . using you as her shield from the Black Army of which you speak. Wounds run deep that run in the heart . . . but in time we will mend. I dare warn you that Quastor should not be given such a position, Hinault, the stallions which you lead have followed you . . . as well as the cause. In such a time, it is not wise to upset the current balance."

Ivory rogue paused, liquid orbs smoldering but for a moment . . . lighting quickly as they rested upon his spawn's equal. Amusement coursing through brute's mind, ah but such a match . . . one to disagree when the need arose, one to comfort when times were ill, and one to enjoy the times of peace with.

"In the sense, I myself shall journey to the lands of the stallions that live here . . . their aid may prove crucial in battle, or diplomacy, Hawklash. As for Shifter, yes, I know of her . . . indeed she is worthy as a warrior. These lands shall not be unleashed to those of ill will, mark my words . . . for they will be my last presentation of what all can not imagine."