It was easy for a man like him to lose his entire sense of self on something as bizarre as the metal object at his hooves. So easy, in fact, that it is not long before he fails to notice the odd song of the late dwelling bird, or the sound of hooves tramping down on the snow outside of where he has settled himself for his studies. He certainly does notice, however, when one of those exterior interruptions enters his clearing.

He actually might not have looked up to see her at all, if the familiar woman hadn’t said something. With a swift, upwards look from his work, eyes wide and worried, the stallion’s naturally nervous state sends a raucous of worries thrashing through his system at the interruption, though its short lived enough, considering he knows this woman. The spread of his blue eyes eases as soon as he recognizes the stranger in his borrowed clearing (he had not found a permanent one, yet), and a friendly smile wrinkles his dark features in greeting.

Unlike many, Dragomir does not mind being interrupted while he works, especially by herd-mates. He’d had plenty of practice being a herd crafter while serving Kahlua and Mirage, and one of the first things he had learned was that others cared very little for the studies of others, especially those being made in the middle of the herd-land. It wasn’t to say that they didn’t question the art, or what was occurring, simply that the average person was not content to simply watch a man stare at natural fibers, glass, metal, or stone for very long at all. While it doesn’t seem that Syrena at all intends to ask after the making of things, the practical applications are the same, and Dragomir happily sets aside his work, for conversation.

As the siren before him, it takes Dragomir too long to draw her name from his memory. Thankfully, the delay provided by her lack of immediate knowledge allows him time to remember.

"Hello, Syrena," his deep bass croaks, hours of disuse making the throat dry, and unprepared for words. Clearing his throat and swallowing down a wad of moisture, he continues. "You haven’t interrupted much, don’t worry."

He’d only been here all day, staring at the metal to no avail, his happy smile of welcome fading for the furrowed frown of disheartenment. Glancing back down at it, he morosely taps at it with a snow dipped fore-hoof. The same lackluster ring sounds from it, but no more, and no less.

"Is this your clearing?" he questions of her, suddenly, a certain nervousness arising in him, causing the pale blue of his eyes to quaver as he latches them back onto the peculiar features of the mythical dame. He will admit he’s not entirely sure who stays where, in the Hidden Falls, anyway, having only lived here a short while. While he can tell you where he, Letha, and Ranjiri slept, that was about the extent of his knowledge, in so far as the housing habits of those in this realm, and the sudden thought that, maybe, he was the one interrupting things strikes him full of humility, as such thoughts often do. "I can leave, if so. I have done little but study this object, and things should be as you left them."

[ OOC: OH YEAH I'M SLOW WOOOO ]

Dragomir
I hope tomorrow you find better things.