She tries her best to ease his worries, her moonlight mane rippling over her shoulder as she shrugs, the golden tips catching the desert sun in vibrant contrast to the sleek ebony that largely colored her. Her boldness, her assertion that it would be fine, only further instilled the idea in Dragomir’s mind that she was far braver than he ever would be; he had only ever brought one other to the wood of the Edge, and he remembers being flustered and overwhelmed with the notion that he was going to get shouted at for bringing strangers home – even when Kahlua had told him he was more than welcome to.

She seems, as usual, so much more at ease than he is, as if she’s used to bringing others to visit or stay on the island across the sea. Maybe she is – he’s never really thought to ask the gold, black, and cream mare a whole lot about what she does when they are not together.

He is glad to know that he’s not technically trespassing and nods that he understands, for surely he had planned on no trouble what so ever – he’d had his fill of adventure swiftly, and at a young age. He wanted nothing to do with dramatics or violence, had often skirted his duties while living in the Edge if it meant confrontation, or cross words. Avoiding confrontation is, in part, why he is here, for more than one reason.

Ironically, he had met Ranjiri in this way – just outside the glass wall of his home, when it was shining, whole, new - having approached she and another young woman (one he remembers mostly as being very, very rude) while they exchanged gifts, he’d obviously insulted them with his over protectiveness of the boundaries of where he shut his eyes to rest. He thinks of the memory and wonders if, this time, it won’t be Ranjiri and himself approached by an overly cross guardian of some sort.

The thought makes him smile, a simple grin that lingers across his face as she tells him more of the bridge, and hints at what else life had led her way down its winding rivers in his absence. While he is disappointed that she cannot tell him much more than that the bridge is magical in nature, his grin wavering, his interest piques as she mentions that she is capable of making the keys and that she can now craft with metal; his ice blue eyes glitter fervently as he turns to answer her hidden question.

"Of course," he says, nodding in accordance that he would only take one of these keys if it didn’t involve Ranjiri getting in trouble – or himself, for that matter. He did like the idea of being able to get to her, all the way across the sea (for it looked like an insurmountable distance to swim).

But, metal! He had never worked it, himself, the Goddess having blessed him with Glass, and for this reason he wonders if it is not the Divine which guards this realm who gave his friend the ability she states so proudly (for he knows very little about the lands outside of that which had been his own). It is a bittersweet knowledge to know that she now creates as he once did, the memory of his magic and the utter delight he had found in its presence almost agony to his soft and sensual heart – and, yet, he feels very happy that Ranjiri can now bring into reality the trinkets of her will, and refuses to soil whatever happiness she finds in her craft with the mourning of his own.

"Metal?" he inquires brightly, "it is a good craft. Much more useful than my glass was."