"Glasswork," he says in reply to her inquiry, slowly easing into the warmth of her persona and the open way she embraced his own reserved company. He is quite fortunate that this land is full of so many with kind hearts, their souls like embers that defrosted his reservations when confronted by strangers with strange parts, and thinks this quietly to himself as she introduces herself and the bird who perches atop her head. Nodding as he knows is polite, he swallows the nerves that have accumulated on his tongue and introduces himself as well. "Dragomir." Though he speaks with few words, the tone is friendly enough, shy and reserved as it rumbles deep as oceans from darkened lips.

Looking more fully as she asks him to show her the magic at play again, a soft smile beginning to grow on his features that mirrors the way her boundlessly kind expression beams onto him. She’s so small, he thinks to himself, reminded of the dainty mare he’d helped with her egg in the caves, and suddenly realizes that his reservations around a woman the size of a very young him are childish and weak.

Swallowing his sigh and pushing the inertia into a nod, he returns his eyes to the layer of glass that lies over a blue stone quite similar in shade to the mare’s feathers. First, he pictures the image of the object he desires, imagines the back of the stone that he cannot see from the angle it is clasped in, and then he rings it in glass. In his mind, he breaks the glass apart into particles of sand, every sliver of silica mentally chipped and hewn until he is sure the stone lingers freely beneath the top layer of glass. Turning his focus to that thin lid that holds the prize in place, he turns this too into sand. All the while, his will pours from him, undulates visibly as white mist that manipulates the object of his power as he wishes, so symbolic to a boy grown to a man within the dreamy embrace of fog.

"Most of the work… you can’t see," he says while he works, slow and hazy as if he speaks through a veil of velvet, though it is truly that his mind is not truly present in reality while he manipulates the glass, "its about seeing it as you want it to be. Not as it is." Lowering his darkened lips to the loosened prize at his hooves, he removes it tactfully and rolls it across the earth towards the creamy mare's position, his soft smile returning to his mouth as he returns his clear blue eyes to her own.

@[Parelia]