She’s not the high-maintenance type; she doesn’t adorn herself in ribbons or chains (though imagine how lovely a sterling silver filigree necklace would look around her slim, arched neck). She wears her past on her skin and in her hair, hidden from those who do not know her mother tongue, and have never been close enough to touch her. Which is, for the most part, just the way she likes it. The weight of the large, ivory talon thuds against her neck when she runs, beating against her flesh in time with her heart - and so her sun and stars is always with her. He may never tuck her under his leathery wings again, and they may never recline underneath a desert sky ever again - but he will always live on in her oversized chest. It is filled to the brim, nay, overflowing, with love for him and their brood.

Without a way to return, to even begin to know where to go, what magic to use - it is the only thing she has left of them, the only solace Yael will ever take in the mysterious events that led her her. For something, someone burned a yod into her chest. Wherefore, and when? Why brand her with the smallest letter of their alphabet, the one from which all other words begin? It represents the spark of creation - and yes, she has brought more than enough lives into the world - but also humility, of which she is now learning while at the bottom of the food chain. It is the first in the name of G-d and his disciples, and his omnipresence.

G-d, however, ceased to exist for Yael decades ago. Why bring him back? Why, when the Gods of this world are nothing like her original G-d. Is it to remind her of her mortality? Or of her power, and what she can achieve, when she lives her life a certain way? It would certainly be a commentary on her time spent wreaking havoc as a dragon…

Whatever the case, questions run amok in the poor little foreigner’s head, causing her to spend some of her free time revisiting that which was previously thought lost. And so we come to the Glaziers, and what they can do for her. It is an odd request, having neither true ornamental nor useful value, but an inordinate amount of sentiment. The sign of a mother, the tet. Unsure of how to wear it, she can only think of a thick, glass piece that she can tie… somewhere. Or wear on a chain. Or put in a bag. It doesn’t matter, she will find a way. And so the petite mare stands in line behind the rest of the ladies until it is her turn. She flashes a shy smile to the two stallions before her, and extends a dainty leg to draw a shape in the dirt. It is a simple curve, like a backwards J without the top, and an ending that curves around like three quarters of a 6, angled, like a jar opening up, or a womb ready to be filled.

Looking to the two stallions before her, she asks them a simple question, “Can you please make a sturdy piece shaped like t’is? I vould not vant eet to break…” Of course, she already knows Gaal - but Mesec is unknown to her, and she to him. But where they stand… she’s never quite sure. And so best to play the impartial supplicant, simply a herd mate, requesting something rather personal.

It's been a long time since she's requested something for herself, and herself alone.

yael

by night, tie your heart to mine, and the two
together in sleep shall defeat the darkness