With the cart returned to the Edge and the added knowledge that he was now the only Glazier around to teach those still learning how to create things in mind, he walks the perimeter of the broken wall searching for two sorts of areas in its expanse; strong ones, ones where large volumes of the glass remained unbroken, and areas where it had crumbled down into transparent stones, scattered and nearly gone entirely. The first were places he would concentrate on himself, the others areas where he would send some of the smaller trainees (if he got any) to do more light work than heaving the large chunks of glass into the cart alongside himself.

He’s not sure what he can do to actually teach them, but he did at least come to some sort of conclusion on a task for all of them to work on together. To be honest, he didn’t know who else was supposed to be working underneath him. He barely knew anyone outside of his small circle of people he’d bothered to associate with in this herd, something he should perhaps be ashamed of. He’s only a member of the Queen’s council and has been a member of the World’s Edge for over a year, after all – but no one ever said he was good at or keen on making many friends, either.

He’s found several good locations by now and is only half heartedly prospecting the rest of it. Every time he starts walking this damn thing he forgets just how very huge it is, how long it had taken them to clear the area and prep the land for Kahlua’s craft, and he’s thinking on those days in the light with the Dragonheart and her people, the times before darkness had brought an end to it all. He sighs, and hears a noise to the outside of the wall.

Curious, he thinks, settling on that the sound has come from an unseen animal or bird, perhaps a bit of glass debris settling out in the woods where chunks of the wall have been strewn. But then, there is a whinnying, and he abruptly turns his whole chocolate and ivory frame around to face what only his ears had examined before.

Picking up speed to a canter and bounding over the same segment of the wall that he had crossed with Semira a few weeks before, he finds a familiar face waiting where the shout had come from, but cannot recall a name. The only reason he even knows her as minutely as he does is from herd meetings, the woman of such unique coloration with those odd markings all along her that its hard to miss her wherever she is. Orange and ivory, but she’s at least an equine and not a hard to swallow hybridization of Gods-know-what with Gods-know-who.

”Welcome back,” his deep dark vocals rumble, friendly enough for the purposes of the conversation; he’d call her by name but he doesn’t know it and he has no idea who her friends were. Hell, he’d not even noticed she wasn’t around until now, what with her standing there smelling like a thousand different places and none of them are his home. ”You used to live here, yeah?” he’s smiling, so at least that should be a good enough sign for the woman that he’s not here to chase her out with sticks, ”I don't think we ever met one another, more than likely my fault...”

I'm not very good at talking, he silently admits.

Whatever good that will do.