DRAGOMIR

Two come.

He supposes that it is a better number than none, but he can’t help but worry a bit when Resplendence is not among the faces that arrive, especially when Alysanne strides into view – the two were normally inseparable from his notice, but he also alleges that the other Doctor is busy at work on the greenhouse or tending to the last of the herbs before the cold sweeps in and nothing else will grow. He nods to Nasreen as she slips in, interest lighting her face as she sees all of the supplies he’s brought up here with him, his own smiling growing in return to each woman.

"I’m pretty good, Alysanne," he offers in reply to the dual tone painted mare, his smile warm and welcoming despite the nerves that edge his heart beat up a few paces, "and you? I haven’t seen you in a while."

Both want to know what’s happening, but he is loathe to immediately delve into the work that is in store for them the next couple of seasons – the wall had taken a long time to make, and would surely take just as long to bring down.

Still not entirely used to the wings on their bodies, he shifts away to the cart to clear out some things from it, busying himself while waiting to see if anyone else will come before he answers the two ladies. Both, he knows, will be helpful in the endeavor – Alysanne immediately offers as much, and he figures that Nasreen would not have come if she didn’t want to work. He has, after all, seen her working at collecting up small fragments along the side of the wall just as he has, and with a note of afterthought within his quiet perusing as the herbalist and the winged seer introduce themselves to each other.

It never ceases to amaze him how many of his herd have not met yet, how vast the numbers of the Edge are to allow such things to happen to socialites like Alysanne and Nasreen. He couldn’t think of a single time in his memory that either of them had been alone – very much unlike himself, who spent most of his time cautiously avoiding most everyone.

"Today we’re going to start work on bringing the wall down," he says as he returns to the trio, a pain rising deep within him at the thought of destroying something that, as far as Dragomir was concerned, symbolized all the friendship and love he had found in the Moon’s land, "I’m going to start by turning a large section into the glass needed to finish the greenhouse, but it surely won’t consume the whole wall." A chuckle, not really heart felt but more placed for the sake of the conversation, falls from his dark lips as he turns his attention more fully to Nasreen.

"I started last season on turning the small debri into cubes, like this -" rummaging around at his hooves, he lets the cube he’d made many weeks prior roll across the earth and into visibility from the tangle of ropes it had been hidden in, "could you do the same? If nothing else, they’re good to trade with." His expression, always so serious, still bares the scant smile of friendliness that he always wears when working with his herd mates, though it is not as brazen as those he shares with Kahlua or Resplendence, for he does not know them as well; today, they’ll repair that damage.

"Alysanne, I’ll need your help to get the panels into the cart and in place at the greenhouse once they’re made," his smile lands on the mare he has known longest out of the two, confidence edging his voice more fully for this fact.

With a final nod of concurrence, the painted Glazier turns about to face the task at hand; his selected section of wall is mostly undamaged, thick enough to boast several full size sheets of glass, and with a settling of his concentration and a deep draw from his will, the wall glimmers and seems to bend ethereally in the afternoon light.

The first sheet breaks away, slowly, like the pages of a book that have not been opened in years slowly relinquishing their hold on one another, the stallion stepping forward in the last moment to allow the panel to land with a gentle butt against his ample shoulders. For a final few seconds, its still all starlight and glimmers before it solidifies into a solid panel of glass, its parameters carefully drawn from the stallion’s memory (he had stared a long while at the preexisting construct, you see).

He stands for a moment in silence, carefully tasting the differences in the way this had felt from the cubes or from making glass from nothingness; it has a lesser pull on his will, he immediately deduces, but it also requires much more concentration – he had to hold the image of reality in his mind, superimposed alongside that which he wanted to make, and the first buds of a headache begin to pulse in the back of his mind.

He hopes, for all their sakes, that it eases as the day progresses and he grows more accustomed to this odd style of magic.

CrafteR

world's edge