Mirage had left his company shortly after arriving at the entrance of the forest that marked the beginning of the World's Edge, its end unknown to him. Bitterly, he swallowed the trembling of his heart as he watched the black forms of the DragonHeart and her bonded make their leave of him, drawn away by some business that he was not yet trusted to know. He watched her until she faded into the same pitch darkness of the world outside the magically lit paths, a soft and gentle sort of sadness filling him as he realized that the only face he would know here within Helovia had just walked away, leaving him to face his new "family," as the ebonite queen had called them, without her comfortable and easy presence to guide him. Damn, he cursed, mostly himself, really; he had left home to find his own purpose, his own strength, and yet within in moments of arriving he had already latched on to the first older female and thus matronly presence that he had encountered, and there she had just gone. His brows furrowed deeply as his simple but handsome face turned to face the forest, ears erect and piercing blue gaze observing the flickering of flames that seemed to be emanating from the trees themselves; alluring, even as he found his stomach broiling with anxiety at possibly being confronted by beings unlike himself, the horror stories implanted into his brain by his father not so easily forgotten.

Would he find home here? Tentatively, a hoof is placed in front of him, his muscular body revealing not a single tremble to betray how deeply he wished that Mirage had not left him to do this alone. Despite having only known her for a few hours, at the most, the black mare was quite good at leaving an impression; her position as the queen of this forest was something Dragomir felt rather secure beneath, the charcoal lady and her dragon seeming to exude a confidence that he hadn't ever felt from his own parents. She still has her kingdom though, he mused as his body slipped into the first line of trees, his eyes traveling across the unfinished bits of what seemed to be a wall in the midst of construction. He paused for but a few seconds to admire the craftsmanship, but also to wonder as to the state of affairs in this fairy tale forest that he had not been told by his guide, his thoughts travelling along with his hooves as he continued forward, his face never still as it turned upon his proudly raised neck and observed all that his eyes could make out in the strange, gleaming mist.

It is a rather moving place, this Helovia, he mused, his eyes sweeping up a rather tall tree that he had come to halt in front of, the mist that provided a light in the middle of the shadow as beautiful as the ancient forest of the Threshold to here had been, the path then lit up by enchanted orbs that hung from the trees, far less spectacular than this ethereal glow. He didn't imagine he was even all that deep into the World's Edge; the scents were thinner and fewer here, he assumed the lingering traces of newcomers and those on patrol, and he had not yet encountered any of the fires he had seen from the outside, and it was decided that this was as good a time as any to wait and locate another guide. "Anyone home?" he question the empty air, his deep vocals rich and adequately projected to draw any near by to him; he only hoped that the scent of Mirage still clung to his skin, to provide him the rights to be standing under this rather statuesque tree.

[ OOC: Lol it's ironic that Semira showed up. I was just talking to Neo about how I was unsure as to how he would respond to the dragon hybrids; guess I'll find out now? x3 ]

The snap of branches drew a curious and quick gaze of pale crystal towards the source of the sound, the young stallion briefly startled and amazed by the image that was appearing from the mist and trees; her face shimmered, it's surface covered in scales that etched themselves along her frame, the facets of the strange skin capturing and then returning the gleam from the ethereal lighting. From her shoulders, pale, leathery wings stretched heaven-wards, her child's hooves remarkably graceful for her age, and he found himself rudely staring at the strange hybrid of horse and dragon. Aarde guide me, he thought, dropping his eyes to hooves to avoid being disrespectful to her, fearful of the wrath of Mirage should she find out he arrived within the Edge only to start a fight with a filly.

As she drew closer, he found her face to not only be adorned with scales, but also the golden image of a dragon curled about one of her bright, amber eyes. Eyes like Mirage, mused the youth, who was not as naive as others his age and took care to examine every situation for facts deciphered by merely looking. When it came to what people said, he was less observant, but he hoped that time would lend him talents in the field of conversation. For now, he was merely the child of the Dragon Isle, son to a fallen queen and king of a kingdom that had since been destroyed, and in the seconds it took for the filly to speak after she stopped in front him, he felt the weight of his lonely predicament heavily upon his shoulders. That he must be kind to this child, no matter how much her appearance plagued at his heart, because she was the key to a life here, made him feel rather ill within himself, though he attempted to apply a friendly smile to his features that still came across rather strained.

Her voice was lilting and gentle, similar to the accent and pitch of the DragonHeart who had guided him to the burning wood. Is this the sound of Helovia? He found that her tones were pleasant as he had found the ebonite lady's to be, and that for some reason, this child also made him feel comfortable that he was not going to die at the hands of her strangeness. A glance was given to her hooves as he bowed his head in greeting, relief meeting his heart as he realized she would not be shredding him to pieces with her claws on this day; the filly had none. "Greetings," rumbled the painted stallion, his nerves and generally quiet demeanor keeping him from speaking any more than that, still unable to keep from sweeping his eyes across her peculiar build at random intervals as his curiosity outwitted his resolve to not gawk.

Her giggle that she attempted to choke back as she observed his emotional conundrum made the stallion raise his head a little higher, the gleam of injured pride alighting in his eyes, though he tried to sweep the emotions away and remind himself that she was but a child, and had probably not meant to cause offense with her outburst of humor. Still, it was unsettling to be a source of amusement while he felt like his entire heart was going to explode from restraining his urge to head back out of the forest the way he had come, and even more so as the little dragon princess swept in nearer to his features that he tried to advert from looking upon her strangeness.

To his credit, the stallion remained still as the inquisitive girl continued to invade his personal space, her wyvern's tail swishing gently behind her as she took care to fold her thin, silver marked wings close to her body. The sight of the muscles moving along her shoulders and up the strange appendages made Dragomir's stomach turn, his mouth a grim line of discomfort as he looked down upon the pleasant and friendly face of the child who was remarkably unaware that she was making him want to crawl out of his skin. The scales, from this closer vantage point, were beautiful, each one seeming to be crafted out of some other worldly metal as the myriad dragons of his birth-land had been. Precisely how a horse and a dragon came to make union was perhaps the most deep set discomfort he felt while looking at this child, that one of his own kin had chosen to stray from the paths predetermined to them from birth.

The revelation of her lineage allowed his falsified smile to become more genuine, the male rather proud of himself for having observed their similarities correctly, though he still wished she would return to the earlier and much more preferred distance that had been between them. "Dragomir," simply replied the usually rather stately stallion, who was now on the verge of pushing the little dragon mistress away from him and plunging as quickly as he could back into the wilds. He didn't think that would be fair to Mirage, however, who for some reason had decided that the challenge of facing the strange faces within the Edge alone would teach him more than she could by merely guiding him inside. He made attempts to meet the curious gaze of the child named Semira, though the dragon's scales and the very image of the beast upon her face made the glimpses into her golden eyes fleeting and nervous. Biting back a groan that threatened to break from him at the thought of having to find a way to usher the conversation along, he reinstated what she had already said, hoping that by providing a topic of discussion he could accomplish getting the little lass to burn herself out on talking to him, leaving him once again to peace. "The WeyrLeader is your mother?" the dark and rich sounds of his voice were gentle despite his conflicting emotions on the little girl before him, who seemed kind enough but was simply not a natural being; either way, it was good that he had decided to not be rude to the girl - she was, after all, a princess of this beautiful forest, and of all the things that Dragomir wished to do, it was to not offend the hosts of his new home in any way that presided most prominently in his thoughts.

She said his name slowly, tasting it's syllables in a way that he had not done her own unique name. Perhaps it was that he was uncomfortable repeating the title of a demonic entity, fearing the repercussions of using her name aloud, but even Dragomir is not so naive and childish as to think that his child has come from any place of evil intent. Children were simply incapable of being malicious at such a young age; had the filly been a handful of months older and well past her transition into spoken language, he may have doubted the clarity of her heart, but at such a tender age and grand lineage it was unlikely that the child had experienced anything that would have twisted or maimed her spirit. As it would appear, Semira was less cruel than Dragomir himself had been at that age, her thoughts molded to the ideals of acceptance and love that her mother carried with her, surely teaching them to her daughter as she found ways to physically show her the path of her parents. The painted stallion had been shown the same roadway as Semira by his mother - the path of acceptance, of unconditional love, of fairness and honor. But he had also been led down another, into the dark heart of the world, by his father, one that taught him that what was strange was dangerous and that above all things, the earth-children were to inherit the world from their weaker, genetically mutated cousins, reigning supreme for the rest of time with dragons lounging upon their backs.

The child's repetition of his name led to a long stream of questions and also factoids about the heritage and breeding of both her and her people; the names he kept in his mind, knowing Akaith to be the stellar golden of Mirage, but the other dragons were unknown. He had meant to answer her initial question as to the origin of his name before she rambled forward with her queries and innocent banter, but instead the child seemed to realize that she was allowing for a rather one sided conversation; her crisp, unusual vocals answered his earlier question, a nod given in response to relay to her that he had heard and understood. His smile gained in lightness by the moment, his heart slowly easing its way back to a normal pace, the logic she provided with her rambling allowing him to place her rather firmly in reality, but also her very nature seemed to make him unable to remain hostile towards her. This child was mostly equine, from the sounds of it, and he now looked over her with a less reproachful glance, imagining the size of her father, who was sure to be massive; the truly wild dragons, not the small wyverns that bonded with horses, were as large as small mountains, he had been told. Not that he had ever seen one - as big as the monsters were, they were masters at remaining unseen, but both of his parents had regaled a story of a dragon known as Walter sweeping away four foals and yearlings within his talons without breaking a sweat.

Perhaps, one day, he might share the story with Semira. For now, he regards her hesitantly, unsure as to whether or not he can truly accept her without breaking the rules he swore to follow, the life he had been taught to live. "My name means precious peace," he said softly, his heart aching within his chest for his mother, her face pristine and etched within his memory as he recalled the meaning of his calling slipping from her lips, her beautiful features framed in the sunlight of the afternoon; he had been named for the peaceful existence that Adalwulf and Requiem had come to find, secluded among the dragons on their small Isle, away from the turmoil of herds and strange faces. "There were thousands of dragons where I grew up, most of them the average wyvern seen here in Helovia." He paused, his deep rumbling voice creating a chasm of silence in it's wake, "The true dragons are unlikely to dabble among the affairs of our like. Your grandmother, she was unusual." He was not sure if he could classify Semira as an "our" or even similar to himself, but he was fairly certain that she did not have the superior and long lifespan of the giant dragons that slept all across the magical realms of their earth, having been bred away twice from the longevity of her ancestors with the short lived and rather unimpressive (only when compared to the greatness of the wyvern) equine species.

Her innocence, it shimmered about her like a veil of light that he could not hate, no matter how many times the words fell into place in his mind, the flexing of his muscles to flee lessening in their undulations until he found that he was no longer afraid of her, that he could stand here, albeit moderately uncomfortable in the glow of her strange appearance, and not feel the desire to run back into the mist laden wood. It may have been his thoughts to his dam, her gentle soul eager to love all who came into her path, that had salvaged his feelings from repulsion to a tentative comfort, knowing full and well within his young heart that while Adalwulf would not have accepted the child, his mother would find her so alluring that her companionship alongside the dragon-like filly would have been drawn out to better understand the magic that enchanted her bones. Requiem, Dragomir had to remind himself, as he stumbled about his chaotic and mixed thoughts, had come from a land where the most magical moment of her life had been the daily movements of the constellations, a life that his father had never been forced to live; though he doubted, in his heart of hearts, that Adalwulf would have been much different had his roots grown in plain soil as his mothers had. It was a difference of their souls.

He peered down at the child with his crystalline eyes and wondered why her down trodden expression bit so deeply at his own soul. He could not change that she had been wrong, but perhaps he might have played into her game some, to keep the smile burning so bright upon her delightful features, though after a bit of thought to the matter, he decided it was best to have not lied to the girl; friends could not be attained through falsities.

He was delighted to see her vigor renewed at the mention of his birth place, the gears of a child's imagination sending her once more on an emotional tangent that, while it had drawn from Dragomir intense anxiety at the beginning of their encounter, now painted a smile, subtle and smooth, upon his youthful face. He almost jumped on her nearly whispered desires to see the splendor, leaping before he looked, so to speak; but her face was all he needed to remember that she would be unwelcome there. The scales that adorned her features and the leathery wings (still appalling to the young stag, who tried to focus instead upon her shimmering bodice and not the bizarre appendages) would mark her as an enemy to his father, whether she arrived alongside his son or not.

It may be likely she would suffer even more for his failures.

"Perhaps, one day, we will go together," he lied, the words bitter on his mouth but for the sweet salvation that it would more than likely draw again that brilliant grin to her face. He found that he was beginning to derive great pleasure from her own happiness, and that in and of itself made the lie all the more excusable to him. He could not bare the though of crushing her joy once more, with the ugly truth behind the isle of dragons; she was not welcome there, at least so long as Adalwulf guarded its borders, and he wished for his father to remain king of the isle for as long as time would ensue. He also did not wish to see that beautiful innocence about Semira fade away, as surely such an encounter would cause harm to her pristine soul - the dragon-child was not born to understand hatred, that much he had gathered already, and to face a man so set in his ways as Adalwulf would surely crush her spirit, wipe that brilliant gleam from her eyes in a single movement. He couldn't bare the guilt of such an act, but it hadn't stopped him from humoring her dreamy gaze.

Her giggles ruptured the mesh of his thoughts, drawing his gaze back into clarity from the misty ruminations of the mind, the child opening up more space between the two of them in her fit of humor. The laughter was brilliant; it had been months since Dragomir had heard such joyful noise, and he found himself smirking despite his stalwart nature in response to her own elation. He even chuckled a bit when the source of the hilarity was made evident in the words she got out in between the seizures of laughter, remembering the proud gold and rather sure that Semira spoke the truth of her nature. "Ah, few beings hold the pride of a gold," he humorously stated, his brilliantly blue eyes narrowing in the sounds of his rumbling laughter, so infectious was the mirth of the filly before him that he simply forgot his moral struggles against her appearance, "much to the chagrin of your sire!"