The butterfly girl has a quick temper, he notes with a gentle start, eyes broadening and mouth becoming a grim line of disapproval. His ears flash backwards at her sharp tone and hateful words, a disquiet rising ongoing in his chest as he struggled to bite back the words that wanted to lunge back out at her.

Past the age of children, he may have been, but he surely was not grown.

The swift action of the gold dipped mare saves the man from any further struggle, her immediately apology settling the wounded feelings of the adolescent who was really trying to be on his best behavior with these two incredibly strange girls.

He snorts softly in approval of the much more mannered creature before him. They indeed hadn’t gone past the wall, but judging by the gruff and insensitive manner with which she had introduced herself into the conversation, she wasn’t one to really give a damn about such things.

It was probably a good thing he’d met them here.

Much chattier than himself or her companion, the preciously trimmed damsel carries on with many words. He listens to them as well as he can manage, filing away their names for reference later and gaining interest as she mentions her lineage and home. He does not really know the name of Midas or the location of the Throat – he doesn’t really get around much or talk to that many others, but he recognizes the name of the place from the one winged mare he’d met in the land of fire and red earth.

If they had a peace agreement or not was something Dragomir could not agree or disagree with. Such things were beyond his best interest at this point – he was struggling with finding his place among those of his new home, so much so that he didn’t need the added aggravation of fitting into a grander, political scheme.

All he knew was that they were awfully close to the entrance to the place and that he had been adequately polite so far despite that.

The sound of hooves touching the earth from no where turns his eyes to a peculiar and splendid sight, and he mistakes her for the girl he met during his first afternoon in the Edge at first. But the strange, ethereal dragons that accompany her are not the magic of Semira, and her body is of different tones; the marking on her face also warns him that this is, as far as he can assume, another of Mirage’s unusual hybrid children.

She is as beautiful as the other, he notes quietly from his vantage point, ears raised inquisitively to catch the lilt of her voice as she inquired most delicately and effectively as to their purpose here. He finds himself smiling strangely despite himself, both at the prettiness of this child as well as the memories they bring up of her cheerful and bright sister.

The pair are very different, and yet both hold such a mystical allure for their strange similarities to the closest thing that Dragomir truly had to a God - whether he knew it now or not.

"Dragomir," he says with his whiskey voice, deep and with a stone edge. He does not welcome them here, for it would not be true. But he does allow the girl who had spared the antennae-baring thing a gleaming feather an acknowledgement for her apology. "Some just lack proper communication skills," he says quite honestly and straight faced – for it is true.

He himself is a failure in this department.



Dragomir</style>
falling asleep in chalk outlines -falling asleep inside the chapel</style>