As is standard with the young man, he takes note of the difference in their height quite suddenly and late into the meeting, her cheerful compliment giving rise to the fact that he had to glance down at her to see the sweet curvature of her smile. Her small bow, however, quickly strikes the idea from his mind and leaves his head reeling with awkward pleasure at the notion that he is worthy of such respect from others; it had never crossed his mind that a glass maker would be someone who earned cordial nods of salutation whenever they made mention of their job, and while it was true that the Moon was the source of his magic and that it was, therefore, a holy and sacred thing, he did not see any true honor in the title.

What he found the most pride in was working with the glass itself, the finished products that he could give away or trade for useful things for his friends and family. It was the work and what it brought to his newfound kin in this forest that was worth mention, and perhaps that was why she nodded. Ever since he’d looked too deeply past the surface with the last pretty mare he’d met, he hesitates to believe that she thinks anything at all like she does.

She’s only pretty, and smiling at him while he flounders about his words, kind and perfect as Kahlua had been when he’d first met her. He smiles his own smile in return to her, but it is not entirely for the joy of the conversation; it is because he thinks, to himself, that the Moon is a woman because it is the only form that automatically is born into the world with a magic of its own, a binding mysticism that makes foolish boys fall too hard and too deep into the glistening seas suspended in their eyes.

He can’t swim, at least not there; a recent discovery, one that leaves him guarded against her kindness and with eyes that see more clearly just how far that horizon can stretch.

”More amusing than grand, I’d say,” he replies after a short pause, which is true; he truly loves what he does, the only detriment to the job his newfound pressures to teach and be a leader of sorts, ”though I am blessed that I was deemed worthy enough to spend my days doing what I enjoy.” He could handle this sort of thing, the greeting and welcoming of others, he supposes, but as far as telling others what to do? He was not old enough to be of any wisdom or use in such things, and surely the older members of the herd would mock him behind his turned back or disregard him in his youth, no matter how skilled he seemed to be.

He forgets how gentle the hearts of his herd can be.

Her next words draw a smile to his lips and perk his ears up atop his head, the stallion not having noticed that they’d drawn downwards during his solemn thoughts of his terrible responsibilities. ”We have that in common, then,” he grins, the deep bass of his voice less reserved with this one than it has been with others who have come to the border and been unfortunate enough to be greeted by the antisocial paint. Gesturing into the Moon’s woodland with a dark muzzle, his voice rumbles forth again, lips curved into a pleasant smile that reveals he has decided no one will mind if he just brings her back in as if she never left. ”Come on in, while we talk,” slip his words as he turns in towards the Edge, assuming she’ll follow because he figures she has little reason not to, "it seems I'm only ever out among the others for work."

But words pull his eyes back over his shoulder to her and his pace to a halt, curiosity lighting the pools of his clear blue gaze as he wonders what sort of question it will be that it must be preceded by one asking for it’s permission. ”Sure,” he replies, not really knowing if he can answer her or not but willing to give her inquiry a shot.

She laughs at what he says, triggering some instinctual machinery within his young male self that makes him perk up ever so slightly and honing the smoothness of his smile that reflects back onto her; its not that he’s any good at flirting when he wants to, but there are subtle things that women can do that get his hormones moving about in his usually tepid head and, finding what he says good enough to giggle at is one of them. He does not notice the change as much more than a peaked fondness towards the painted mare, a more firm sense of camaraderie between himself and the pretty warrior that he quickly disregards as no more than a coincidence of having both been shadows together in the bright and vibrant land of the Edge.

He nods to her observation, finding it to be very true. He never felt as if he was working, even while he wandered and toiled about the surface of Helovia, finding instruments of his craft and creating from them whatever it was he was asked or desired at the time. It was more fun than anything else, a purely intoxicating moment in time in which he controlled every aspect of something, a part of himself he neglected all to often with his quiet and humble nature, his desire to follow what seemed to be a greater being than himself.

The words slowly trickle into nothingness as they skirt in towards the broken wall, lingering in a rather broken span of it all as her question meets his ears and leaves him wondering why there had been all this ado for such a simple query. He supposes in some lands it may be common practice to keep things quiet about the proceedings within, but this mare was a part of their family if she desired to be here, and so, as he had seen those before him do, he is open with the painted mare who had been welcomed into the mists.

”Quite the opposite, actually,” he remarks, looking down at the gleaming fragments scattered across the earth and against the too proud to fall remnants of the Dragon Queen’s wall, ”I was actually walking its length to see where it would be best to begin taking it down.”

He wants to keep walking into the forest, nervous about lingering to close to the borders for too long ever since he discovered Ricochet slinking about in the shadow of the Moon’s throne. It wasn’t that he disliked the stallion, truly, just that the skeletons in his closet were quite purposefully placed there – and the appearance of one said bone collection outside his doorstep had been disturbing. He could risk being recognized for what he was outside the borders of his herd, but so near to it?

It would surely be the end of his time among the World’s Edge.

Hearing another arriving on slow steps, he turns his head to find the pale and seemingly glowing figure of one of the resident healers, a mare he had come to consider a friend for all that they had done together, an easily accepted one for the purity of her features and the lack of mutated instruments along the feminine lines of her tiny frame. It takes him a few moments to realize that she is crying, ears slipping back in concern for the sweet herbalist and a gentle nicker rising to his lips just as her own delicate voice follows a tender sniffle.

”It is only a moment of welcome, Resplendence,” he says, his voice so deep and bass in comparison to the meek, tear tinted words of the Moon Doctor, ”Cheveyo has come home to the Edge.” The explanation is spoken with furrowed brows of worry and his ears still hold themselves in a rendered position, not sure why it is Resplendence is crying but finding most immediately that he dislikes it with an intensity he cannot really describe.

It makes him think of Ranjiri, crying in the meadow, her young heart soured by the wickedness that had scoured the land, and it pains him to see so many unworthy of hurt as he is weeping.

He does not weep, when he should.

Why should they, for no fault of their own?

”Are you okay?” he asks, taking a step nearer to her but not really sure of the motion because she’s already withdrawn a pace or so away from them without words ever having been spoken. He’s not very good at any sort of consoling or concern, at least not as he can see, and the pounding of his heart against his ribs affirms that he is liable to make it worse just by bumbling around like an awkward fool. Glancing over to the other admitted social failure, his eyes almost plead his desire to be able to instantly vanish into thin air whenever things seemed to hard or too distressing to face before he looks back to the Doctor, that same moment of social horror replaced with one of tranquility, consolation, only the slightest discomfort with the moment bleeding into the glimmering heart of his eyes.

He had helped Ranjiri, though, hadn’t he? He could at least try for his Edge sister.

She asks why they aren’t rebuilding the wall – something Dragomir is not sure of. Rolling his large shoulders in a shrug, he frowns ever so slightly in the motion and turns his eyes to the dilapidated structure ringing their home, a single ear falling back in his lack of knowing. ”I do not know.” He could of course throw in his own assumptions, but that was only his opinion on the matter – as he could see it, it would be about as much work as it had taken to initially build the thing as it would be to repair it, and perhaps his Queen had seen little use in wasting time. But he does not claim to know Kahlua’s heart or thoughts, and so he only replies with what he knows for sure.

Nothing.

Thankfully, his lack of a proper answer is distracted by the trembling leaf that is Resplendence, and he watches Cheveyo move to comfort her with concern writ across his features. The pale mare is soft in her heart, he decides, having caught her many times crying or distraught over things, and while many might consider it a flaw, he finds that it is perhaps why she is such a proficient healer. Her deep sense of compassion for those around her deepens her will to heal and provide aid, and so rather than rebuke her emotional display he allows her to lean on his more solid emotional foundations.

Not much more resolute, to be sure – he’s had his fair share of freak outs and emotional idiocy, but it was easier to deal with someone else than himself to be sure.

The mare reaches out to him, an odd sensation for one so reserved within himself, and for a split second he fights his desire to back away, pushing it aside with the resolve to step forward and into the embrace. The way she trembles reminds him of a time when he had been young and afraid during the dark hours of the night as a storm ravaged the island, and his mother had soothed him simply by gathering him to her side until his shivering eased into the peace of sleep. He could do that, for Resplendence – surely he could.

He takes in her words in calm silence as he leans nearer her, hoping to wrap his muscled neck over her own to ease the shuddering that claims her. That it is only a nightmare makes the stallion want to cluck at her for being childish, but her shame and the hiccups that ravage her normally sweet and pristine voice leave him stoic against a woman’s foolishness.

”Its alright,” he says, observing the dragon’s descent to her spine from the corner of his eyes, the immediate concern that something horrible had befallen her easing with the knowledge that it was only a dream – but what a terrible dream it must have been to leave her so shaken, ”you are safe.” Lifting his face to send it sweeping downward to brush at her cheeks and the tears staining them should she let him, he hopes to ease her worries that she has ruined everything with her tears. ”Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his deep voice warm with concern as he glances back to Cheveyo to assure her she is still in his thoughts, as well – but that he must tend to his friend, as well.

She settles into him in an almost rhythmic way, the steadying of her pulse through her skin a sensation that alerts him to the fact that she is easing into the feeling of safety alongside the physical slowing of her tears. Cheveyo, watched from the corner of his eyes, seems uncomfortable with the situation, but he supposes he would be too; its not like he’s particularly close to any of them in this herd, but he has spent much time with Resplendence and the herbalists and thus feels a deep admiration for her. Its upsetting to see her upset, no matter how trivial the cause, and as she explains what the dream had been about, he cannot blame her for being afraid anymore than he can blame the sky for rain.

He presses her tighter to him for a moment in response, not sure what to say to make the terror go away aside from pointing out that it was unlikely – which was uncouth. And so he remains silent and comforting, doing his best to be the person his dam had been when he’d come shivering to her side with a mind full of dark rimmed nonsense.

He nods in agreement as words on distractions come to surface, turning his blue eyes back to Cheveyo with a peaked interest writ in their depths. He himself hadn’t asked her that, which maybe wasn’t the smartest way to go about welcoming others into the Edge – but he had known her to belong and thus hadn’t thought to heavily on why she had left or come home. In some instances, the reasons were too painful to talk about, and in others, so mundane as to barely warrant a thought.

He himself has only left one home, and he had done so because he was a male and, as with all young males, his heart had yearned for adventure and life outside the comfortable safety of his family. After arriving to Helovia, he had quickly found himself submerged in a life full of strange faces and stranger events, and while it was often stressful and he was often homesick and wanting of the comfortable routines of the dragon island, he was happy here and would be loathe to forfeit the adventure and fun he had found among his new friends.

@[Cheveyo]

The discomfort that takes hold of Cheveyo is not unnoticed by the young stallion, though he doesn’t comment on it and tries to remain as placid as can be while listening to her explanation. All the while, the soft sounds of Resplendence coming out of her fear fold in with his thoughts, an occasional scuffle of hooves letting him know she was still clinging to him for support even though he held the other mare in his eyes. That he was a source of comfort for someone was something that filled him with great happiness; it was a purpose aside from living, things that Dragomir spent a lot of time searching for, and while he has always willingly been there to help those he considers his friends, it feels good and right to know that he can provide emotional balms for them as well.

A slight guilt over hiding in his own hurts sweeps through him, perhaps perceived by the others as a grimace for Cheveyo’s obviously sad story. That she didn’t elaborate was enough motive for Dragomir to back off the details – she wasn’t ready to talk about it, maybe she never would be. He couldn’t blame anyone for secrecy when he himself had only leaned on Semira while he sobbed in the desert because she had found him there. Otherwise, he would have dealt with his hurts alone – as he always did.

Resplendence asks the question he would have avoided, earning her a hesitant and swift glance before returning to the painted warrior, catching the secondary question nestled in the Moon Doctor’s words and deciding to answer that one. ”She was around, like me,” his smile is warm and says he doesn’t condemn her for it, rather understands; not everyone was made for social interactions, himself included, ”minding to her own business and observing.”

He wants to hug the fretful little healer to him, she’s radiating so much discomfort and fear, to soothe her worries that the world is coming to burn them down, but he knows only time and proof that the Edge was fine were the balms for these things. Either way, she was Quilyan’s – and it was his job to hold her when she was sad.

Dragomir didn’t really like the idea of fighting with anyone, much less a herd mate and a fellow councilman.


@[Cheveyo]