If Azarel had asked Dragomir why it was he felt the wall had fallen, he would have answered that it had little to do with the darkness; in his mind, the wall had come down with the one who had designed and built it, upheld the rights for it stand along the border of the Moon’s land. When Mirage had vanished, the Moon had wiped away the remnants of her rule, so that others might know and remember the consequences of not guarding that which should have been most important to them – not their land, a vain thing, but those who made it more than just a forest in which food grew, those who made it a home.

It signified the end of one story and the beginning of another. Whether the monsters, the darkness, or the Moon herself had done it were of no importance; it was still planned, a divine event, and he looked to the crumbling wall as Mirage’s signature at the end of her short farewell.

As the youth raises his brow and takes an imposing step forward, the Glazier feels his chest clench in agitation and his head swiftly rises, limbs planting themselves more firmly against the earth below him as he glowers back at the impudent unicorn.

Spared a bit of shouting by the crafter as Semira arrives and immediately cools the rising temperature of the paint, falling into her company and, for the most part, ignoring the purple tinted idiot at their doorstep; he manages to get some words in after the friendly banter between the two friends, however, and Dragomir looks over at him with a raised brow that wonders why in Moon’s tits this daft child has come to stare at a land he doesn’t even remember well enough to recall a single name or face aside from his mother.

Whoever she was needed to quit making kids or at least insure they didn’t go around making total fools out of themselves in front of strangers.

Semira answers her questions, some of the some curious expressions rising to her face and the replies quite short and terse for one so young and normally friendly. She was, at least, supplying answers, which was more than Dragomir wanted to do at this point after the little puke had stepped towards him as if he was going to do more than continue to ask questions and take up the Glazier’s time; everything about this boy had grated against him since they'd first met and it has all culminated into a final and explosive boiling point.

”No one recognizes you. You know nothing of this place beyond the hallucinations and dim dreams of a child, and I’ve heard quite enough,” he snaps, blue eyes cold and glinting, old hatreds rousing insults in the back of his mind that are aimed at this one’s lineage and appearance, but he does not care or shun them; it is boys like this one who have put room for racism in the world, those who give an excuse to rely on old and false hatreds (and it doesn’t help he’s still heartbroken over his beautiful Queen and the missing figurehead that had guided his life until her disappearance and is thus, perhaps, overly bitter and acidic), ”you have no respect for our people, laws, your own place upon this earth, or even the vaguest understanding of the truth of the world you live in, and yet act as if you deserve something of us for simply being. You deserve none of our hospitality, or any more of my time.”

Disgruntled, he snorts and stamps a hoof. ”Leave, as the Dragon Queen asked of you and your kin last year,” standing his ground but wishing he could look over to Semira for support because he’s not entirely sure he has rights to demand such a thing of anyone, he finishes quite tersely, ”come back again when you’ve got enough sense and humility to act like a stranger where you are one.”