He left the Edge behind early in the morning; the sky had seemed dubious to him even then, but it had been a good while since his explorations south and the miserable heat in the humid, misty forest made the prospect of rain pleasant. In fact, he was curious to revisit a delightfully clear and cheerful pond in the willow wood to the south of his chosen home, the very same desire that had led him to Helovia drawing him out of the Edge and into the unknown realm that he had stumbled upon so many miles from his origins. His mood was elevated from his newfound usefulness among the herd, having discovered that his size and demeanor had made him quite well suited for building and manual labor among the others. It wasn't the career his father would have had him placed in, to be sure, but he found the work pleasant, and with all of his duties on the assembly of the wall cleared for the day (quite literally, as he was set to removing debri from Kahlua's path) and his heart quite full of happiness, he set out with a fine veneer of sweat glistening on his pelt towards the grove he had passed through on his way to the Veins.

He began on the outskirts, admiring the lazy boughs of the bent trees and the various wildflowers that bloomed even in their emmense shade; the breeze that had cooled him on his short journey here had pushed the grey clouds overhead, and with the first few drops broken and bleeding on the ground, the dreary overcast sky began to empty itself. The rain wasn't cold, heated by the plethora of summer light that seemed to stem from the Sun's displeasure at having been absent so long; Dragomir grinned boyishly in happiness as he turned inward towards where he knew the pool to be, still curious as to what may lie at its bottom.

A movement and stream of words drew his attention, most specifically the name of the God most praised upon his parent's lips. By the name of Nieque, said the male stranger, and the young man immediately stopped in his tracks, his smile faltering in the nostalgic bite of the word.

Drawn nearer the source of the noise, suprise writ itself across his features as a dog bolted past him, soaking wet with its tail tucked between it's legs. He followed its noisy path through the trees some distance, pale blue eyes scanning the brush into which the animal had vanished until the sound no longer altered the noise of the being who had spoken. Realizing that he had halted to observe the flight of a wet hound, the tri-hued stallion snorted annoyedly at himself and set back along towards the rustling that he believed to belong to the one who had named his God so personally that Dragomir could not deny it was worth investigating.

His arrival was noisy, no heed given to his movements in his rush to catch up to the stranger's side; as soon as he saw the pale, buckskin flesh through the misty green leaves of the willows he nickered a deep and masculine greeting, trotting with long, powerful steps to close the distance between the two of them. As he had expected, the man was an equine, and not so much his elder as to make him uncomfortable - he was also male, a key factor of Dragomir's limited socializations that allowed him to maintain his wits and confidence, the addition of his curiosity in the stranger leaving him unusually fearless and bold in his presence. "Brother," he began, feeling a comradere with the buckskin horse that had been absent in all of his encounters so far, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but the name you spoke, was it what I believe it was?" His face was eager, crystal eyes sparkling youthfully and spread wide, ears alert and focused in on the one who knew the power of the father of the horse. Hoping to fall in line with the man's path, he realigned himself and slowed his pace as he spoke, deep tones rumbling and cheerful.

The terrified dog, the dreary morning and rainy afternoon, none of it settled as an ill omen to the naive boy, pre-conditioned for the wicked plans that the man alongside him held within his mind. All he felt was a slender beam of light in his lonesome den of solitude, a soul who understood the world as he did; that they were all seperate, that it was sacred and necessary to remain so. This one knew how it truly all began, and it was likely that, if he knew the name of Isilme's greatest divine power, he may know of Dragomir's father and mother. They were ties, weak ones, perhaps, but the young man did not view them as such, this stranger more of a brother to him than Mirage was a symbol of great power. "Have you come here from Isilme?"