Her innocence, it shimmered about her like a veil of light that he could not hate, no matter how many times the words fell into place in his mind, the flexing of his muscles to flee lessening in their undulations until he found that he was no longer afraid of her, that he could stand here, albeit moderately uncomfortable in the glow of her strange appearance, and not feel the desire to run back into the mist laden wood. It may have been his thoughts to his dam, her gentle soul eager to love all who came into her path, that had salvaged his feelings from repulsion to a tentative comfort, knowing full and well within his young heart that while Adalwulf would not have accepted the child, his mother would find her so alluring that her companionship alongside the dragon-like filly would have been drawn out to better understand the magic that enchanted her bones. Requiem, Dragomir had to remind himself, as he stumbled about his chaotic and mixed thoughts, had come from a land where the most magical moment of her life had been the daily movements of the constellations, a life that his father had never been forced to live; though he doubted, in his heart of hearts, that Adalwulf would have been much different had his roots grown in plain soil as his mothers had. It was a difference of their souls.

He peered down at the child with his crystalline eyes and wondered why her down trodden expression bit so deeply at his own soul. He could not change that she had been wrong, but perhaps he might have played into her game some, to keep the smile burning so bright upon her delightful features, though after a bit of thought to the matter, he decided it was best to have not lied to the girl; friends could not be attained through falsities.

He was delighted to see her vigor renewed at the mention of his birth place, the gears of a child's imagination sending her once more on an emotional tangent that, while it had drawn from Dragomir intense anxiety at the beginning of their encounter, now painted a smile, subtle and smooth, upon his youthful face. He almost jumped on her nearly whispered desires to see the splendor, leaping before he looked, so to speak; but her face was all he needed to remember that she would be unwelcome there. The scales that adorned her features and the leathery wings (still appalling to the young stag, who tried to focus instead upon her shimmering bodice and not the bizarre appendages) would mark her as an enemy to his father, whether she arrived alongside his son or not.

It may be likely she would suffer even more for his failures.

"Perhaps, one day, we will go together," he lied, the words bitter on his mouth but for the sweet salvation that it would more than likely draw again that brilliant grin to her face. He found that he was beginning to derive great pleasure from her own happiness, and that in and of itself made the lie all the more excusable to him. He could not bare the though of crushing her joy once more, with the ugly truth behind the isle of dragons; she was not welcome there, at least so long as Adalwulf guarded its borders, and he wished for his father to remain king of the isle for as long as time would ensue. He also did not wish to see that beautiful innocence about Semira fade away, as surely such an encounter would cause harm to her pristine soul - the dragon-child was not born to understand hatred, that much he had gathered already, and to face a man so set in his ways as Adalwulf would surely crush her spirit, wipe that brilliant gleam from her eyes in a single movement. He couldn't bare the guilt of such an act, but it hadn't stopped him from humoring her dreamy gaze.

Her giggles ruptured the mesh of his thoughts, drawing his gaze back into clarity from the misty ruminations of the mind, the child opening up more space between the two of them in her fit of humor. The laughter was brilliant; it had been months since Dragomir had heard such joyful noise, and he found himself smirking despite his stalwart nature in response to her own elation. He even chuckled a bit when the source of the hilarity was made evident in the words she got out in between the seizures of laughter, remembering the proud gold and rather sure that Semira spoke the truth of her nature. "Ah, few beings hold the pride of a gold," he humorously stated, his brilliantly blue eyes narrowing in the sounds of his rumbling laughter, so infectious was the mirth of the filly before him that he simply forgot his moral struggles against her appearance, "much to the chagrin of your sire!"