Kahlua

His beautiful Kahlua. If only she knew. And yet, though she had unknown love in her heart for one in particular, the painted queen really only belonged to the wind. Her emotions too fleeting, her mind to shallow, her heart too ready to run off to the next grand idea or beautiful place. Even the mists, the Edge, her wall could only hold her for so long. She was meant to be free, to run wildly amongst friends and through unknown lands. Would there ever be a day where she was truly content to settle down and live more simply? Perhaps, but she had not found that day yet, could not even see it in the future. Still, maybe that day waited for her, still beyond the horizon, knowing that it could only have the queen when she was ready.

As he galloped up behind her, the queen burst into chortling laughter, the sound audible above the crashing of the waves, a soprano's aria backed by the water's chorus. She was reminded of the day the Earth God had gathered them all on the beach, had bent nature to his will and created a song out of the waves, the birds, the trees and the wind. In memory of the time, she began to hum the gentle chorus that Father Earth had created for them, watching as the Glazier lowered his class creation to the ground, eyes wide at the beauty of the thing. And then...

“For me?” she gasped before he was done, lowering her nose to the thing, touching it, admiring it, loving the way that the sun played upon it's many angles. “But I've done so little,” she added when he was done, looking up to him with a curious smile, believing her words, never imagining what changes she had helped to incite in the painted stud.

“Thank you,” she said as she lifted her head, stepping forward carefully, extending her nose to touch that place on his neck that had become so familiar to her. How many times had she been indebted to him? It was really him that had helped to shape her, in many ways. Yet, the girl hardly noticed it and never thought of it.

Stepping back, the girl again lowered her head and began to slide the harness over her neck, stepping through where was appropriate and letting it slide down upon her withers. Shaking herself to help it settle into place, the girl felt the cool touch of the glass upon her shoulder and smiled. “You're too kind to me. It's gorgeous.” The talent of the maker was evident in the form-fitting, but not uncomfortable, fit of the harness. She had done little to teach him, but it was obvious he had a natural gift for the art of making. For once, the queen was awed into silence, blue eyes upon Dragomir, letting him lead the conversation this time.