He is waiting at the border of the land for one of his patrons or new arrivals, for he has grown bored of patrols and his supplies have warranted no images of beautiful glass objects which to craft and the afternoon is nice enough to warrant a bit of laziness on his behalf. In the past season he has ventured broad and far, seeing places he might not otherwise have seen had he not grown so much in the midst of these tall trees, and no longer was he a young man but a handsome and well toned stallion.

He, of course, had not noticed. As far as he is concerned, he has always been the same, the sort to judge himself more fully on what was contained inside his heart than that which housed it. His thoughts, as they often are, linger on the Queen of the Edge, her beauty astounding and the havoc she had managed to inflict on his simple life staggering; it wasn’t as if she’d even meant to, really. It was all a failure of his own designing, one he had clung to with hope and dreams of a child while she had lived her life as a woman.

He shouldn’t be surprised that his jewel had been set into the crown of her King; he was only ever her student, a small note in the deep song of their land, and he cannot blame her for missing the droll and humble song he held inside of himself when it competed with the brazen and glorious sound of Kaj’s strength and honor. It soured him, of course, to think that the finest equine he had ever laid his eyes upon was slipping from the path of righteousness and purity, and it was all the more bitter to have his upbringing proven false right before his eyes yet again.

At least he’d learned to accept that life was not as his father had taught him, at least not entirely; those days had died in Helovia, perhaps had never lived anywhere but Isilme, and Isilme was nothingness in this era, empty and hollow as the souls of those who had ruled it. But if he had no culture to rely upon and no maternal or butterfly laced smile to guide his actions, what did he have?

His glass, he supposes, but even that is only so fulfilling. He may also have friends, but its not like he goes out of his way to prove his loyalty or usefulness to them; ever since Mirage slipped away and he took notice of the romance between the golden King and the Edge’s rarest flower, he feels as if he has been more alone than even when he’d wandered on his own to this place. What made it even more unbearable was that Aaron had left him with the task of creation to his own, and while a more ambitious man might revel in it, Dragomir is unhappy; it was honorable, to be sure, but also such a large amount of stress on his behalf that the simple thought of having to be in charge of the other crafters made him want to hide in his hollow and never leave.

As if fate hears him, she knocks loudly right outside the worn glass wall.

At first he thinks that it’s someone talking to himself, because he only hears one set of hooves and a young voice sounding out in the mostly silent wood. Raising his features slightly from his depressed and pondering stance, he takes a few deep breaths to smell out the stranger; unknown, foreign, but he’s not alone. The smell is also unfamiliar and he’s not sure what sort of thing it belongs to but it is an animal, with fur rather than feathers or scales.

He looks left, then right. No one else is coming or here to talk to the unknown person outside the wall but him.

Cue the deep, desolate sigh of not wanting to do this.

”What brings you to World’s Edge?” he asks as soon as he’s out of the glass lining of their home, discomfort with the situation visible only in the way all four hooves are firmly planted to the earth now that he’s come to a stand still and how his eyes don’t leave the young unicorn or his big… cat.