It made Dragomir quite happy to know that the gardens were doing well, mostly because it made one less thing in his life that had gone away, or changed completely. That he’d had a hand in both tilling the rows and crafting the glass building that encased them, and that they’d become something - these were pleasant thoughts, which eased the constant worry in the bay’s chest that, no matter how hard he tried, his efforts were meaningless.

Not to say that the world had gone out of his way to teach him this notion; it was simply that Dragomir was a morose creature, what some might call borderline nihilistic. Perhaps it was a concept he had learned listening to his parents tell stories of a kingdom that was now only ash, or, perhaps, it was that his soul had been tempered in a shadowy place before being fitted into his body; no matter the cause, Dragomir, even as a child, had never believed anything was permanent. He had, in part, always believed that all things would, at some point, come to their inevitable end, though he also tried to not let that truth keep him from growing attached in the first place.

It was the way of things. Nothing was forever, after all, and one had to feel a bit of sorrow from time to time to really know when they were truly happy.

Syrena’s arrival ends the discussion of the past as it pertained to the present, however, and soon Dragomir is carried out of the dingy hallways of memory, and back to the sunlit, autumn forest. The scaled woman’s remark to Alysanne’s joke is more humorous to the tri-colored stallion’s sensible nature, and he chuckles, mostly because he sort of sympathizes. He, too, hopes that things stay calm at least long enough for him to get reacquainted with Helovia.

He’s about to answer his old friend’s question as to how he’d been when Syrena’s disgruntled remark draws his crystal blue eyes towards her. What she asks makes his brows arc curiously, not sure what, exactly, had transpired to make her feel as if she was intruding. Surely, she knew that she, too, was involved in this conversation? Besides, if she was no good at conversing, as Dragomir himself was not, why had she approached them? He certainly avoided this forest of greetings at all costs, knowing all too well that it required a certain level of social eloquence that he, quite simply, didn’t have.

The sudden thought that she maybe thought he and Alysanne were, well, more than friends makes his skin flush, and a disconcerted frown come to life on his face. Not that Alysanne wasn’t pretty, but he just hadn’t ever thought of her like that, and, besides, he hadn’t the slightest clue what he’d done that might have insinuated that there was more than platonic friendship between them. Suddenly feeling quite worried that he’d been less than gentlemanly or offensive in some way, all while wondering if, maybe, she’s the rude one here, not him, he hesitantly answers the siren’s inquiry as best as he can manage.

Uh, is his eloquent response, well, I, erm… While he certainly wouldn’t mind more information about the Falls, he was also entirely unsure how it fit into what they’d been talking about before, and it left him, as many things often did, at a loss for words.

He’d been to the Hidden Falls, once, as part of an emissary party gathered by the then Queen Kahlua, and otherwise knew very little. It had been an endeavor to mend whatever rifts had been caused by a trouble making mare, a mare that the painted stallion couldn’t remember the name of. He and the rest of the party had been greeted at the gates by the then ruling Midas, who was dead now, and a woman who’s name, like the trouble maker that had brought the group there, eluded him. The hierarchies of the herds had changed so much during his time in Helovia that he simply assumed she no longer ruled it, either, so he was much less flustered (for once) by not recalling names, than he was by Syrena’s unexpected comments.

I guess? is his quavering, final remark.

[ OOC: Lirl he is way to awkward for Syrena's bluntness ]