a falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes

She laughed. It sounded soft, and he wondered if it was because she was like that—soft, not of resolve, but in her manners. Though, that was merely a fleeting observation, a question echoing around some unoccupied space of his skull. It was just a prelude to something else, a little something to dredge up all the other adjectives one could use to describe Glasgow: timid, perhaps, reclusive, even?

With her odd scars and perpetually blood-stained fetlocks, who knew what she came from? What she had been through? What had broken her horn, had it broken more as well?

And he had made her laugh, softly, gently, but to this naive ears it sounded genuine. With nothing but a bit of silly wordplay he had made her laugh.

He had never considered himself amusing; he had always been stoic, composed. True, from time to time he had offered the odd blandly spoken crass comment resulting in laughs or snickers, and he had had a handful of strange ideas, like when he had pushed Moron over in the water, but—that was it, wasn't it? It wasn't something he could fake. It wasn't something he could contemplate, stage, and achieve.

It was something that just happened sometimes, because he was in a silly mood and let it slip. Still, he was surprised at how ..good it felt, to have caused such a reaction in her.

But, of course, his prying question was less amusing to her. She averted her gaze, and he let her, waited in patient silence with his blue eyes trailing slowly along the surroundings. It was beautiful, the way the sun glittered upon the fog and the dew. He was content to wait for his answer, and when he saw her raise her head from the corner of his eye, his gaze slipped back to her as if no time had passed at all. And truly, barely any had—just a few seconds at most.

"I've never heard of any God punishing their crafters," he said before he could stop himself, yet his voice was gentle, thoughtful. Only too late did he realize it sounded like saying it was Glasgow's fault, but it was too late to go back and fix that. "And I can't say I have much faith in the Gods, either. I acknowledge their power, but that's it." His tail flicked as he tried to think faster than the seconds, but the pretty words he wanted to use eluded him; when he wanted to paint something smooth and soft like silk to boost her confidence, all felt like gravel on his tongue. "Have you tried, uh.. different 'ways' of shaping the glass?"

It didn't even cross his mind that maybe she didn't want to talk about it, that maybe she didn't want him butting into it.

[ Sorry for the wait, I suck. @Glasgow ]

I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind