The rest of the World’s Edge had seemed busy with the temple as of late, which, Dragomir supposed, he couldn’t discredit them.  He did, after all, feel very strongly towards the patronage of the Goddess, having lived in her wood for so many years, but it wasn’t the same sort of love that he felt for the Earth, or the old Gods his parents had painted with their words when he was but a foal.  So, though he admired the Moon and appreciated that she was such a studious caretaker of her people, the painted man was also not first in line to thrust himself into such activities. 
 
Let those who sought to fill their hearts with a sense of servitude to a Goddess they believed they owed, instead.  All he would be doing would be moving rock and bramble, not furrowing channels for Divine love to flow within his heart, as many of them were doing; so, he instead did what he enjoyed to do most, and what made him feel as if he were routing channels from the universe into his soul.
 
Creating.
 
Not with stone or metal, this time, but with rope, several types of cordages woven from different fibers of various diameters spread out before him, each natural and less than perfect, but sturdy, and supple.  He’s spend most of the early morning into the late afternoon crushing and weaving the strands, and now that he’s got everything set out and ready to begin his true studies, the craftsman has taken a moment to simply relax.
 
Dust dances in the heavy, golden Tallsun air, the last dregs of the dreamy heat that had accompanied this serenely cool season promising, with the droop of the weary boughs and leaves upon the trees, that Orangemoon was soon to come.  With lazy sways of his tail and an even lazier expression, one lip droops like those leaves above, and his ears flick leisurely atop his head, casting what flies land upon them back into the air (for a moment, anyway).  With a heady sigh of relaxation, the humble man breathes in the wonderful day, and silently thanks the Earth God for creating such a beautiful world for everyone to share, here in Helovia, and Father Nieque, for the blood coursing through his veins, giving him opportunity to behold such splendor at all.