He was glad she was as understanding as she had always been. Never the sort to find talking easy, even with his own parents, Dragomir found that is was almost so with Ranjiri. She had ever only become upset with him for good reason, and, even then, for short time frames; she had never judged him for his aspirations or his inner most thoughts (those he shared, anyway), and had always quietly listened to his rambling about ropes, bricks, greenhouses, or glass.

Even though his heart was in shambles at this time of his life, he knew that, no matter what, even if he was to vanish again tomorrow for months, or years, he would find her again. She might shout a bit, of course, but she would still care about him, he was sure, as he would never stop caring for her.

How far that concern went through her heart is a subject of pain, his mind diverting down a different path, this once comfortable summer trail now frosted and chill. He clings to the conversation between them both, clings to her ruby eyes, because letting them slip causes him great pain. If he looks at her, eye to eye, however, he can imagine that the green becomes the shore, and the whisper of the wind is the gentle ushering of wave against sand. He can pretend, at least for a small while, that everything is as he had left it.

He can even smile when she shares her astonishment that the Earth God chose her, a small chuckle rumbling deeply.

"Some God he’d be if he didn’t know you," he remarks with a smile, the relationship of his parents and their God, Nieque, having given him many insights into the behavior of divine beings, through their stories. While, surely, they were not all accurate, the God the Earth not being the blood-thirsting, racist war God that all the divines of Isilme had been, Dragomir assumed that by simply entering the realm of Helovia, you became known to the Gods who ruled it.

"Besides, you are very brave, and fair," he continues, just in case her disbelief was truly a guised request for support, "you’ll be a great Czarina, I’m sure of it."

The hold of his eyes upon hers falters, and the conversation does too. At first, she’s almost indignant, curious, a question almost making it all the way from her lips before it is stilled. Dragomir stares at his hooves, misses the pain the lances across her face. When he looks back up, it’s because she’s talking about that pain, and, looking up to see it there on her features, having so suddenly replacing the delighted, anxious wonder that had clung to it before, the stallion feels his heart clench, and break.

He… he died?

"Ranjiri, that’s… that’s terrible," he stammers with genuine concern.

The tricolor man is unsure what to make of Rhoa being dead. He feels empathy, and sadness for Ranjiri, and he also feels some relief about the fact that, whoever the father of the foal within her is, he won’t have to ever see them together, the family he could never have. Does that make him a bad person? He wonders.

Does it make him a worse one to want to take that family, now? Is it selfish of him to desire her, still, to so place himself in a void that had been made by sudden, early death?

Or did that make him a good man, willing to ease the suffering and hurt of someone he loved, willing to stand where others might turn away? She needed someone.

These thoughts steal him, roiling and battling for dominance within his breast. Meanwhile, the world outside keeps moving, the pretty mare wiping away her tears, and swiftly adjusting the subject; any other day, her question might have easily lured him away from the conflict within himself. Any other woman, anyone that mattered less…

Stepping forward, he longs to hold her, to shroud him in the warmth of himself, his heart against her own, stealing away her hurt and sorrow. He stills this desire, afraid of her rejection, afraid to appear too desperate, too swift upon the tails of disaster, though he truly means the gesture in a friendly (rather than romantic) way. She hides her emotions behind business, does not dally in the hurt, or pay it notice, and, being the sort to do the same to himself, Dragomir worries for her. Still, hadn’t she said it earlier, that this sort of thing was hard to talk about?

Perhaps all he could do was be here, after all, he decides, concern still marking every inch of his otherwise unremarkable face.

"I will be whatever you need me to be, Ranjiri," he tells her, meaning every word, "for as long as you’d like."

[ OOC: aka yes in the most sappy way ever ;_; ]

memorablemoose & larfsalot @deviantart
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