He had been raised differently than this, he thinks, looking into the red sheet that falls before him, for he had been taught loyalty; and such are his thoughts when the sound of another turns his pale eyes about, his broad chest still turned to the magma so that the right side of his face glows ruddy and orange.

The figure is female, svelte and curved, her pale hair cascading in easy ripples and ringlets, her features adorned with a single, spiraling horn, one that shines a thousand tones of pink, violet, and bright, midnight blue in the red light refracted from its white and polished surface. He’s seen stones very similar before in the red earth that is packed tight about the chasm in which they dwell, and he even knows its name: opal. That it has made its way onto her face rather than the ground is a peculiarity about unicorns that the simple, equine stallion will never understand – or seek to.

He accepts it, like he does most things; like he accepts her company, though he’d rather dwell in silence and the penance of his pain.

The smile which alights on his face is less warm than that of the unicorn maiden, reserved as the uneasy trot which carries her companion in her wake, but he tries, none the less. His tail sways gently in the super heated air as she introduces herself and the peculiar miniature buck, words pouring from her mouth like rain from overburdened clouds – which, he supposes, is good, because it means he’ll have to talk that much less.

"Peace would mean nothing if it was not occasionally broken," he answers thoughtfully, because he’s in a thoughtful place – his voice is even deeper than its usually oceanic depths, rich and alive with the storm clouds which fringe his heart, and the rumble is low, the stag disliking the echo of his own voice in the cavern (and seeking to avoid it by keeping his volume minimal), "and help is always appreciated."

He is nodding in a distant, conversational sort of way, and about to introduce himself in turn, when another sound draws his attentions back out towards the direction of the exit, pulling his bulky tritoned figure all the way about where only his face had moved to greet Raeden and Tin. Curiosity lifts his ears, pale eyes searching the shadow and pale gray stone for the figure which had made the noise.

"I’m Dragomir, of the…well, no where now," he offers, though its more of an afterthought, his focus more fully placed on the dim shadows (cursing his eyes for their failure to see thoroughly as some seemed to see in the darkness); yet, it’s only when he takes a moment to look back towards the opal crowned maiden and back into the depths that he manages to pick out the familiar figure of yet another lightly pelted unicorn.

This one, he does know, at least he thinks so anyway; there is something familiar to her small stature, and as he looks more closely, he sees the smooth reflection of round, glass baubles.

His heart shudders violently in mourning; his glass. The sight of it makes a part of him reach out in longing, a part which withers and whimpers as it withdraws.

"Sh…Sheba?" he calls out to her, pulling her name from his memory, dusting off the cobwebs of disuse.

@Raeden @Sheba
[ OOC: Ah I took forever I'm sorry guys. D: Sometimes he just doesn't cooperate with me at all. ]

memorablemoose & larfsalot @deviantart
dinpattern.com