DRAGOMIR

Her question is met with silence, at first; he has many things he’d like to make, to be sure, but there are no specifics that immediately rise to his mind. Perhaps he’ll wander about searching for trinkets to work with for a while, maybe meeting a few others along the way who shared his passion or desired a small token of his work in exchange for things that might benefit his herd. More than particular items there are theories that circulate in his mind, ideas that weave and ripple against another, simply waiting for the right time to be tested. "I’m hoping to test the limits of the magic. How meager or strong one can make the glass, the depth of color that can be added to it, the shapes it is confined into. Things like that," he explains; Kahlua had few answers to these questions when he’d asked them, only what she knew from experience, and all the Glaziers before her were dead, gone, or so elusive that he couldn’t hope to learn from them. That left him with only himself, and while it was lonely as his usual endeavors, he looked forward to them immensely, his gleaming enthusiasm writ on his face as he discusses his desires for the magic he has been blessed with.

The name she pairs with that of the seer is unknown to him, no faces rising to meet his mind’s eye. His frown is evident, explaining as much with a glance if the one looking is skilled at determining such things. "I’ve never even heard of her," he says slowly, ears slipping down again in his lack of knowledge, that someone so important had never been sighted or whispered of near him, "she’s had to have been gone since before Mirage and the others disappeared. Maybe the Moon told her what was coming." He grows silent, remembering the way the land had been shredded into pieces, the people walking its surface hideous and disfigured, families shattered and trust ruptured into shards finer than silt. "I can’t blame anyone for running," he concludes with a shudder, forcing the images back into a dark urn of memory.

He glances over at her as she stretches her wings, blue eyes catching the light that ricochets off of her scales with the same wonder he always meets her Goddess like form with. He still isn’t entirely sure what it is that rushes through him when he catches the wyvern details of the girl, whether it is purely horror or purely awe or a mixture somewhere between them both; all he knows for sure is that he cannot look away from her with any ease. Nodding in reply to her words, so timely placed after his darker mentioning prior, he smiles faintly, letting some of her hope and innocence bleed into his heart. "Normal enough," he says, smiling, "the Dragoness Mirage bred unity among us. A change of leadership has not shattered the peace we find with each other, perhaps only made it stronger." He slips into thoughts of the flow and function of the Edge, how projects still forged onwards and the herd seemed to remain strong even after loosing so many in the darkness; the powerful had been replaced by the rising strength that had grown beneath their mighty boughs, and while their roots now decayed in the soil, it fed that which had dropped from its fruits.

All was well, he decided, and it lightened his mood exponentially. "Kahlua is boundlessly kind. Kaj, as I can tell, is hundreds of times more stoic than Kahlua on her most serious day, but wise." There is reservation in his voice as he discusses the new winged leader of their fold, still unsure whether or not he can fully place trust in someone not bred from greatness and thus destined for so. Still, that he is willing to give time for the man to truly prove himself speaks volumes for how he has changed and grown since Semira and he last met; his allegiance on first arriving to Helovia would have never been sewn to a man such as Kaj, no matter his deeds or valor. It was not the way of the Steadfast, and had not been the way of his son.

How things have changed, he muses, glancing again at sweet Semira alongside him.

CrafteR

world's edge