He can’t help but overhear the conversation happening in the room of glowing vines that he has wandered into in his search for the recipient of the glass crown grasped in his lips, as loud as the one mare is. He looks over every time she enthusiastically plunges her voice into the more stable and calm tones of those who have gathered around her, at first annoyed though mildly interested in the topic at hand.

Wraiths; he thinks of the unicorn her tied feathers to, the black one that dangles in his tail that she gave to him in exchange. None of those horses are Ranjiri or Roskuld, but they might be Shadow. He lingers in the room long enough to feel the walls of his irritation at the loud mouthed pegasus fade away.

Eventually, he found himself drawn into the folds of the conversation, standing along the fringes of the gathered group until he finds a familiar face; sidling in quietly alongside Africa (while she was winged, he didn’t know anyone else and not a one was his species and one was even a mutant child), he gives her a soft look should she glance his way and then turns his focus back to those speaking. The blue and black feathered thing is making quite the pivot point, drawing all eyes to her each time she spoke – perhaps not because of her charisma, he can’t help but think, more than the volume and vibrancy of her voice.

She put Kahlua to shame with this overabundance of energy.

Arriving at the tail end of the conversation about healing, he listens with interest to know that the demons can be restored to their former selves. He is sure there are members of the Edge out there, lost in the shadow; it would do him well by the Queen of Dragons to at least seek out a few. Sure, he had aided Finn and was even now doing a task that served the herd (the Glazier’s trinket for the mare called Shadow of Dragon’s Throat hung from his mouth), and he hadn’t done anything else blasphemous in the eyes of his leader since the incident that shall not be named, but it still does not repay the debts that he owes to Mirage, even if she does not know his indiscretions.

And then the child opens his mouth, and Dragomir nearly groans aloud, a piteous sound that he swallows down with his pride. It would have to be the little freak child, wouldn’t it? He looks at his hooves and longs for a time travelling device that would allow him to go back in time and politely refuse Kahlua’s request

Even if it meant she didn’t like him as much as he would like her too. It saved him from having to go save the mother of this… thing, who was likely a monster herself, changed by the wretched disease.

Slowly, he places the crown down and stands near enough to protect it from the hooves of others while he speaks to the child.

"This crown is for Shadow," he says when he’s got his eyes back on viewing level (which doesn’t take much – he’s a tall guy, after all), gesturing down at the glistening object with his muzzle. He ponders just leaving it at that and walking away – until he remembers that he was supposed to get items in exchange for the crown. And, while he was sure Africa would gladly assist him as soon as they were able to freely visit the oasis, it would take much less explaining to have Shadow herself participate in the trade.

And how would he explain it to Kahlua?

Oh, sorry, the poor helpless thing had been turned into a monster and, after her son begged for help to save her, I left it with him. No leaves either.

He could already see her crestfallen face, and the thought of disappointing her so deeply as to lose the light of her smile whenever her eyes fell upon him was painful. He refused to accept that he was so deeply embedded in the dead God of his father that he could not fulfill the simple task of bringing the crown to at least the proper customer – no matter that the endeavor was no longer as simple as it had initially been planned to be.

He frowns openly and without shame, too stuck in his own thoughts to uphold a proper facade. He doesn’t even give a damn that he’s supposed to be acting sociable and business like; all he wants to do is become someone else quite suddenly and without warning.

After a moment of contemplation on his situation, he decides on a route of honor to appease his most beautiful and wise teacher; perhaps, he hopes, it will cleanse his soul some of the black blood that stains his hooves, the marks of his foolish and overly excitable battle sense.

Maybe doing this will make everything okay again.

"I can go with you," he says begrudgingly, swallowing his discomfort with the whole situation in exchange for his grim expression to remain in place for the remainder of this ridiculous quest. He gestures towards his tail and the branch woven into it, looking about the group before explaining his encounter with the undead unicorn mare. "I met a wraith in the tundra, and assisted her with a task in exchange for some things. They are capable of reason, to some extent – but that isn’t really the point…" his finishing words are mumbled as he shuffles his hooves awkwardly under the weight of their eyes, "Anyway, I was attacked by a second wraith, and the branch reacted most immediately; a green light spread across my body and protected me from the fiend."

He pauses and looks over to the blue and black pegasus, the strange female who was so willing to throw herself to wolves. "We don’t need literal bait if I can’t be hurt…assuming it still works."

Oh, if only he knew exactly who it was he had just volunteered to be juicy steak for.