Having watched the residents of the misty wood at their work since Kahlua's call, Dragomir hung along the outskirts of the forest that provided both cover from the eyes of the crafters as well as ample room to see at their work. He was rather interested in the builders, and though the wall itself was a simple object (albeit massive) it had allowed to him to come to know each of the three faces that had been most present at the building in new light. He had already known them all through some encounter or another, though the bonded stallion and the painted mare were still nameless; never one for conversation and having met them at a lesson on herbalism (in which talking was not required) he had kept his name and business to himself.

All too often he had done this. It shamed him to be afraid of their company; and yet, more terrible than the shame was the sensation of blind and irrational panic threatening to consume him each time he attempted to make new connections. Surely his father would mock him for being a coward at this moment, but Dragomir did not feel that he was being entirely yellow bellied; Mirage had warned him that his way of life and thought was not welcome here. Would they condemn him for ideals that he himself could not proper define so early in his life? The logical assumptions of the Weyr Leader, that they would accept him unconditionally, were just as foriegn to him as this land.

It would seem that the land itself rebuked him, truly; he had found the shrines of the Gods, and fallen to his knees before the lord of the Earth's temple. He did not know really why he had chosen to pray - what he did know was that the earth had threatened to swallow him whole before he had even given close to his hopeful words. It struck him as too coincidental, the lost boy, to feel so utterly alone in this strange place and also abandoned by the closest deity to resemble his dearest Aarde and Nieque, and so sullenly he had watched them tinker away on the wall for days, too hesitant for another rejection (the first of his mortal dismissals, to be sure) but young heart yearning to learn whatever it was that they could share.

His gloomy mood had lightened emmensely for a moment as the black mare had given purpose to the titles she had shared with him on their first meeting; it were her massive, golden claws that had torn the titanic trees from their ancient resting places in the forest to clear the way for the glass maker to work away on the wall. With ease, Mirage grapled the things, drawing a look of awe and wonder to his watching features that bubbled youthfully; the expression did not last long, soured by an anxiety at having to speak with the lady again, knowing now more of her power than he had assumed from her demeanor. That he still had not learned all of her secrets was certain, also, a dismal lining to the drab existence that Dragomir felt himself emmersed in, his lack of honor or grand deeds making him feel rather small clinging to the shadows on the outskirts of the cleared forest path.

He finally managed to muster his courage when reminded of the unicorn foals, the reason that they had been led into the wood. While the idea did not settle well with the stag, he could think of no better path other than to take an eye for an eye - an idea that he was sure enough of Mirage's attitudes on life to know she would have no such policy marked by her name. And so he had quietly accepted her failure.

He would quietly accept that she had not failed to instill a greater respect for her with her mere draconic presence.

Drawn to break conversation with the dragon queen but knowing that he would have to outgrow his awkwardness, the youth settled upon the (seemingly) less distressing of the two horses that he had met that day along the fireside with Smoke. Without a bonded and seeming to have a bright and cheerful personality, she was much less intimidating than the man who was often running patrols on the chance encounters he had spied her. This mare, on the other hand, was most often seen chatting with others of the herd, a jubiliant and lively woman with a face as lovely as her charm. He approached her from the center of the cleared space, giving a soft gaze to the figure of his queen toiling away before nickering his welcome.

The girl may find comfort in his voice, or sadness. It is deep and rich, so much so that the young male of three sounded to be a much older and grown man until one caught light of the youth glittering in his eyes, the questioning desire for approval flashing like silver in a creek bed beneath his crystalline irises; it is a voice very much like her brothers. But Dragomir does not know this, and so with no sauve and Fuhrer-esque moves, it spills out in the form of a half stammered, "Err," his ears slipping back in self annoyance at not having thought of anything to say in all his mental battling to make the walk over to her. "I am Dragomir," he inserts after momentarily collecting his nerves and train of thought once again, "I have never built anything before... but I would like to help, if I can."

His friendly smile faltered once more as he realised that with such a request, she may believe he was asking her if he could use his own magic to help her build the wall. Of course, he couldn't do that - Dragomir had nothing but his own body and spirit to offer to the cause. Quickly latching onto the tail end of his words and nervously scuffling a hoof in the dirt before him, he added, "Not with the wall. But I can clear away brush as it is needed, or... well anything really." It seemed a common phrase of his - anything really - and it bounced around stupidly inside his head in the normal span of conversational silence (an hour to the poor bloke). What was even worse about this particular situation was that he was not entirely sure why he was so nervous; she had four hooves, no horns or wings, and wasn't a half breed of some wild animal.

But she was a pretty girl.

And, unfortunately for Dragomir, such realizations never dawned quickly on such a serious young man.