He chuckles in time with Tyradon as the dragon prances and preens beneath Dragomir’s words, suddenly stifling the sound when the emerald clamps down hard on her bonded stallion’s rump and causes him to flinch. It didn’t seem kind to continue laughing at a joke or the humorous temper of the dragon when it was at the cost of this strange dark stag, though he does find the feisty little wyvern funny even when she’s abusing her master.

He nods in understanding of the man’s words, knowing how well that dynamic could push dragons into unusual social boundaries. His parent’s dragons, united in their own sort of reptilian love, were of green and bronze coloration, creating a similar hostility in them both as they battled for dominance in the relationship and among their bonded equines and the company they kept.

The question that comes to him next hits him like a ton of bricks, the young man feeling his ears slip to the side once again as he struggles to come up with a plausible excuse other than that he was too fearful to venture far or often. "My parents always said that fate led you to your bonded, not the other way around," he says, another reason he hesitates to search to hard for something he is sure will come to him in time if it is meant to be, "I haven’t found mine, is all. I trust their judgment; both are bonded."

As the topic turns to his craft, the boy can’t help but notice the way the man’s eyes gleam hungrily, but he misplaces it for the savage interest that he feels when presented with new knowledge rather than a lust for the power that such things can offer. The dragon takes to the skies and Dragomir watches her trail into a distant speck with Tyradon, turning his face back to the stag as he speaks. "I wouldn’t expect any different," he laughs, brows rising in good humor of the nature of gluttonous dragons.

His chuckling stills as a question meets him, and his eyes burn with happiness at being asked about his studies as he rotates more towards the stallion to explain his hypothesis. "Kahlua showed me how the stones can color the glass, and that glass can be heavily tempered by magical will to increase its strength," he rambles, words sticking closer together the more he elaborates and eyes wide with ponderous wonder, "but why waste time and energy? Diamonds are hard, harder than steel. Using a similar process to staining the glass with colored objects, you could use the density of the diamond to increase that of the silica particles that form whatever armor or tool one is making, in half as much time as reworking the glass. The product should be of similar damage resistance to at least amethyst or some of the softer gemstones, and more shock absorbent, so that it does not crack or fragment as glass would when impacted…"

Maybe this is why he doesn't get out much.