I find him after some amount of meandering. I would be a fool to claim I have wandered all the miles that exist within this land, that I have overturned every rock and at least tickled every blade of grass with my whiskers. I know it well, but there is much that I still do not know. I would do well to keep that in mind. As with anyone I run the risk of lying to myself and wallowing in the pride of a job well done until my skin begins to rot with the stink.

I know I have come to right place once the trees begin to change though.

I pause briefly, my mission not so great of importance and my glazier as like to be home as not, to appreciate the craftstudship I see in the ornate carvings and sculptures. Absently I wonder if he needs anything painted.

I am pulled away from my casual studying by the soft chirrup of a dragon. I flick an ear, soon bringing my head in turn to set dark eyes upon the pale reptile and her sterling steed. They arrive from the mists like inverted shadows, bringing smiles and genial words. I return the sentiments, or at least the first. It spreads wider at the implications of the crafter, my eyes laughing as they well with knowledge and mirth at his truths.

It is not often a sneak seeks out anyone, I would point out to him. Would that I could, though perhaps better I cannot, as I think it sounds rather haughty in hindsight.

He poses the very question I would have of him. I'm new to this trade, as he's pointed out, and know little of what can be accomplished or dashed away as madmen dreams. I thought of requesting armor of him, as I know of the beauty he designed for the WingLeader, and I am in much need of protection with no muscles to do the job or training to save me otherwise. Though even the quietest of armor would be louder than my naked form; I cannot afford more noise than my hooves already manage. I also very much doubt it would shift with me and what a costly experience that would be as I fly to safety as an inky bird and the hulking flesh of glass would pile up like nothing more than ruble, easily taken by whatever foe I sought to flee. I am better equipped to run than stand and fight, I always have been.

So I've decided to take the offensive, and I seek a weapon. It's not a wooden spear or a sword of glass I want though, they're as worthless to me as the armor that would shield them away. I am in a class fraught with dangers of the mind and I need a tool of equal wit and wile.

I grin and it is a wicked thing. I imagine myself very clever for this, you see. I had not much considered myself a clever horse until I started my work here in the edge. Likely I am still not, but I've found then that I am normal and so many others dumb.

It will do me no good to sit here grinning like a fool at him, imagining my uses of something not yet made. I sweep my tail around me with a deft move born of practice. The great heap of hair lands smartly on the ground, a ring of ink spraying in its immediate area. With a meager flick I've crated my dream, my desire, my amulet.

I let it hang in the air for a moment before I tie it in a chain about the crafter's neck, for him better to see. He is familiar with the god's tears, as they are otherwise called, for I see them adorned on his body. Mine is dark and dull in comparison to the colorful and glittering stones he boasts. I need it to be just as beautiful and just as heavy as only the weight of a god's presence can be. Yet the blackness of my copy is fitting, for they will have no power. Respect Lace I do but no matter how high my thoughts he cannot do as a god does. It matters not though, the amulet needs only look a part not play one.

I quirk my head to the side, questioning him with a hopeful gaze as I let my ink slip from his breast like black worms.