Dragomir listens to his former Czarina with lifted ears and genuine interest, having lost very little respect for her in the interim; for whatever reason, the stallion did not blame her for what had come to pass in the Falls, though, maybe, he should. He also should probably feel more anger towards her for the theft of the mask, but the painted man can also see his own fault clearly in the ordeal, as well. Things that are well watched do not get taken, after all, and all of that which had come to pass was just that, the past – it did not, and never had, suited the stallion to dwell long on things which had transgressed before the now. The Mountain had since apologized, and sought to amend her mistake in the most thorough way Dragomir could imagine, and she had done so, not because he had caught her, and pointed blame, but of her own choice. And even if, with all of those wrongs righted, he still had just cause to be angry, or to feel suspicious of her proximity to him, and so many others?

The crafter was not the sort of fellow to dwell on mistakes and irreparable losses for long, assuming that the loss of her herd, and the vanishing of her sire into the wilderness to fight a malevolent encroachment of some murdered God conglomeration, was punishment enough for whatever she had done to him, or anyone else in the past. Besides, what did she owe him? He had only come to the Falls to be with Ranjiri, after all, having discovered in his time away that home could be anywhere, if that somewhere had people you loved.

"Sounds good," he smiles, nodding his head as he looks up from clearing away debris. Immediately delving into his mental preparations, he wonders what sort of metal would hold heat best, but also not suffer for being left submerged, which Dragomir knew to be a common issue with metallic objects. Rains, ponds, just the mist around here, really, was enough to patina or ruin most metals pretty quickly, unless those metals were precious, and the tri-colored gentleman wasn’t sure how many of his meager stone collection were platinum, or silver.

So, awkwardly smiling at the mares as he steps away from his work to rifle through his pouches, he takes count of the rocks he thinks have metals that won’t rust in them, frowning with a hope it will be enough when the time comes. Roughly shoving the hodgepodge collection back into a pouch, he sets back to work on the log, all the while trying to remember where in the world he had found the ones he already had.

You know, just in case.

[ OOC: Laughing because wtf is post order even in this thread ]