The list is long and time is short, Alune didn't quite mind. He had been blessed with the ability to craft glass, effortlessly shape it from nothingness using the waters and wind. Besides, it gave him a chance to decompress, his thoughts often turned to home as of late, the images of his fellow Oracles flickering in and out in hazes of colour and grey. How were they? How was their home? Had the Gods called them back from where ever they had wandered. So many questions, and the deep blue stallion was forever grateful that tasks kept them from sitting in his skin and sinking beneath, pulling him deeper and deeper into himself to the point the silver of his eyes was the product of his journey within.

He settled himself on one of the clearings by the sheer cliffs, where the fog still rolled like the waves beneath the chalky white drop, and the thin streams from the springs slithered through the ground like spindled veins. It's quiet, serene almost, with the only noise the rustle of the tree's and the sound of the ocean spray, peppered with the occasional birdsong overhead. It was the kind of days many longed for, where many would happily halt their day in order to simply be, lay down their burdens for awhile and stretch their unburdened minds and legs.


He might've been one of them, if his task wasn't tied to the needs of others. He had his own idea's in mind, for the glass he was about to craft. One that was so very him, and the one which would show the radiant beauty of the Goddess he served, and then one of the requests from the sneaks that called the mist his dominion. Knees make contact with the misted grass as he lowered himself into a comfortable position, preparing himself silently for the ardous task of delicating shaping the glass into something that would rival his own lands perfection.

Silver eyes momentarily close, and the Seer inhaled deeply as he dug deep to gently grasp and ply at the heated orb within. Let it's tendrils reach towards the glitter waters and pull languidly at the shadows which danced beneath the trees and rocks. They wisp to life and intertwine in a carefully planned dance, weaving together until there is no more shadow and water glistening like dew drops, only smooth glass gently bending and shaping itself to his whims.

Concentration lines his face, ears swept back to press against silvered strands against his poll as he focuses upon the shapes he wishes to make.

As he moves the image through his mind, different angles, the sweeping lines and perfectly etched features of her face, down to her neck and then her shoulders. Feathered wings begin to take shape, gently curled inwards at the tips. Sweat begins to pool on his midnight hued neck, as the magnitude of the sculpture begins to wisp into existence and present it's weight upon his shoulders.

Wings complete, he moves mentally to reshape and etch the careful, feminine curves and lines of the Goddess more precisely into her glass representation, down to her delicate cloven hooves notched with lines. It is lovingly, painstakingly crafted. Utterly Thalian in it's design, something which he cannot help. If they were in Thal'Sharah, he would of added glittering, floating orbs to wreath her body, the soothing pale glow illuminating her crystal-like form in ethereal splendor. Unfortunately, he is not there, and he must rely on his own talents to make sure she is beautiful. Her horn follows next, gently coaxed into being, twisting to a sharpened point at the end and finally he begins to tuft out the hairs upon her tail and mane, delicate glass strands pulled and curved to create flowing movement where he can.


Eventually, the sculpture is complete, and the silver eyed stallion lets his lids open to gaze at his artwork, the exquisite likeness to the Goddess is remarkable, as though she had been encased in glass herself. Somewhere within him flickers with pride, elated that his labor has born such a fruit. The sweat which marks his neck and shoulders is worth it, as is the dull throb within his mind for exerting himself so much. Letting out a quiet sigh, he dips his muzzle into the nearby stream to swallow a mounthful of the refreshing liquid, allowing himself to take a small break before he began on his next task.

The sea breeze brought with it the foreign smell of lilies and incense, and a cadence of soft hoof beats he couldn't quite place. He had prided himself of knowing each particular gait of the members of the Edge, so that even when he was busy and his eyes focused elsewhere, he could still know who approached and greet them as such. There is a note of self-scolding mentally, for wasn't it his job to know each and every one that called the Moon's herd their home? Admittedly, he had been a wandering soul as of late, drawn within himself.

Eyes shift, even though their outward appearance remained the same, equally unblinking and ever seeing. The ethereal silver pools, with startling mists of white that peppered and swirled within their illuminated gaze.

They land upon a lady whose eyes remind him of his own, pearlescent orbs of trapped moonlight. She is sharp, exotic looking with limbs which seem to roam forever, delicately crafted but no less strong than his own, he imagines. She reminds of him of the wraith like beauties which often roamed the halls of the fire oracle, obsidian creatures as intangible as shadows and ash, to touch them was like reaching forward beyond the veil. A foolish boyish notion, for they giggled and sighed into nothingness at the contact, leaving nothing but swirling shadows and ash in their wake.

He realized a moment or so too late, that he had been staring at her long after her soft voice had reached his ears, having coaxed them forward from their resting place on his poll. Immediately, his tired frame shifts, pillars of blue extending to bring himself to his feet in one graceful motion so he may stand and greet her properly.
 
"Apologies, my lady." He rumbled, head dipping low in an apologetic bow to her, the crystalline spires of his horns glinting in the flickering light of the canopy. "I should of greeted you sooner." He added after a moment or so, verbally reprimanding himself with a chuckle. "I must confess, I did not expect company today. I'm Alune, the rather wandering as of late Seer. May I know the Lady's name?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ravel." His words were warm, genuine as he continued to look at the dark pelted mare. He noted how her eyes, though they share the same color as his own, do not work as his. They look towards him, not at him, they do not linger on his unusual pelt in a mix of curiosity and confusion. they simply look out, as though she is staring out into the distance. Her endless gaze reminds him of the nature's oracle — Shandriel — her opalescent orbs saw a world that was their own, and was not. A realm untouched by their tending hooves and honed magic, where spirits of equines and animals past and present roamed freely, silent, unseen tenders.

She is delicate, more than he had first realized. The part of him which wishes to protect and tend rears to life in slow, silver tendrils, gentle and soft in their glow as they metaphorically reach for her. Lapis hooves moved to gently flatten and nudge aside loose vines and branches around his grove, attempting to make her path easier should she wish to navigate. "It is quite alright, I enjoy company. I have spent much time by myself lately." He admitted with a sigh, he had been far away as of late, wrapped up in his thoughts of home. The thoughts of the other Oracles and their divine quests, had they returned? Had they not come back at all? Was he the only one still absent from his temple walls?

"I would be honored to have the pleasure of your company, while I craft, if the Lady would see fit to gift me with her presence?" There's a silver speckle of hope laced in his words, that she will come and stand beside him. Or perhaps she would prefer to lay her head upon the grassy, misted grove and be comforted by the soft grasses and relax. "If there is anything I can get for you, or if you have any questions, please feel free to ask." He added after a moment, his mind half fixated back on whisping the shadows and water back to life.

Gently, they intermingle as the leviathan settles himself back upon the ground. "Please forgive my laying down, crafting takes much from the mind." He rumbled apologetically, the clinking of glass coming together accompanying his words. Slowly, very slowly, they shape in vials and potion bottles. Glittering, crystal-like and down to the letter of detail the strange Dorobian had asked for. Right down to the swirling serpents which coil around the potion bottle neck, and around the length of the vials.