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06-22-2014, 12:57 PM
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At your confession, the boy-giant seems to recognize his mistake. An ear twitches, and those deep blue eyes seem to widen slightly, lending him a genuinely conciliatory air. A small part of you is gratified that he does not laugh in your face—he does not seem the type, but you doubt that others (Miss High-and-Mighty Illynx, for example) would be so gentle at any perceived ineptitude, whether or not it is a true reflection of the sparkling intelligence that (you fancy) twinkles behind your eyes. So when Dragomir explains that a glazier is a glass maker, you nod your mercis politely, appreciating both his manners and the sheer normality of the situation. It occurs to you that the boy is the first you’ve met in a long while who seems content to merely hold a civilized conversation in the woods. His perfectly neutral, perfectly ordinary expression belies no hidden agendas, no hunger for power, no madness (for which you are particularly appreciative—you’ve met your share of crazies, thank you very much)…company such as he seems to be in rather short supply these days. As if he is not satisfied with his original explanation, Dragomir decides to elaborate. “Each herd has been given a gift from their patron god to create from nothingness beautiful things. The Moon, it would seem, admires glass,” he clarifies, after a moment’s thought, adding, “Apparently, just not walls.” You laugh, rather surprised that he has cracked a joke, and you look back at the wall too, tilting your head. “What happened?” you ask, wondering what could have possibly bulldozed its way through the large hole behind you. A slight breeze whistles amongst the tops of the pines, and you wonder if falling trees pose a problem to the structure. The glass is thick, but you have seen many a giant felled in the aftermath of a winter storm—you wouldn’t be surprised if the wall shattered under such colossal force. But there is no evidence of a fallen tree anywhere nearby: the gaping hole is a mystery. While you think, the playful wind swoops downwards, ruffling the loose strands in your braids and running through the youth’s mane as well. As his dark hair flutters in the breeze, a crystalline flash near his withers catches your eye. Instinctively, you step forward, honey brown eyes glittering at the sight of jewelry. You had assumed that the stallion’s projects were limited to rather crude, large-scale endeavors such as the wall behind you, but to your delight, you realize that intricately crafted glass feathers lie against his cherry brown hide. “Did you make these?” you breathe, drawing alongside him. He is so tall that the feathers are at your eye level if you raise your head, and you survey them with a reverent scrutiny, admiring the glasswork. You have never seen anything like them. If you were familiar with our world, you would identify with the iconic image of a young woman, an expression of wistful longing permeating her delicate features as she pauses in front of a Tiffany’s window. In reality, you are more like a little girl in a candy store with her nose pressed up against the glass. In fact, it is all you can do not to reach out to touch the trinkets gently. “They are perfectly magnificent,” you murmur, angling your head this way and that to watch how they catch the light. Perhaps this boy isn’t so ordinary after all. Tags: @[Dragomir] |
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