She had only just wandered from the Basin’s borders before the storm began to release its blustery snowfall. Recognizing the thick, low-hanging clouds, she had found refuge in one of the small caverns of the Frozen Arch, content to wait it out rather than try and fight her way through it. She lies on her back now, cloven hooves dangling in the air, dark hair sprawling out over the icy stone beneath her. It is a strange position, but one that Tiamat finds quite joyful to watch the storm in (who wants to just sit around, after all? She has done enough of that already). The long plume of her lion-like tail flutters from side to side, her gaze enthralled by the flakes as they twist, dance, and melt into one another.
But even atop her stony perch, the blue mare does not miss the movement, the struggle of effort through this blustering white storm. Lips puckering in concern for the thought of anyone travelling through this wild weather, she tilts her head before righting herself, legs rolling to fold beneath her as white eyes peer through the whirlwinds of snow. Tiamat does not recognize the great beast, or know of the magnitude of its being, but she does recognize the strain and stumble of a struggling creature—and that is more than enough to spur her into action.
Rising to her hooves from the cavern’s floor, Tiamat makes her way carefully—and as quick as she can—down the short rocky slope. The strong gales of wind push and pull at her slender figure, a cloven hoof sometimes slipping on the frozen surface, but before long she is able to make the descent unscathed. Lying in a mass at the mouth of a cave, she sees the strange beast. Her heart trembles for a moment when she is able to actually see it—great, muscled, and clawed—but as usual, her inherent desire to help, the need to aid, is far more poignant than the fear that rises and sputters in her veins.
Summoning the adrenaline as her support, the ocean blue mare bounds to the creature’s side with haste. Blinking flakes of snow from her lashes, she turns her eyes to roam its hairy, haggard frame, before she moves to its large head. “We must get you further into the cave, friend—the wind is too harsh here!” She shouts above the howl of the gusts as they wail their mournful cry. It whistles through the carved hollows of Tiamat’s horn, giving her strength as she listens to nature’s blustery song—it is for her.
“I will guide you,” she assures the beast—unsure if it can hear her or not—but hoping that the natural heat of her skin will, if nothing else, ease the chill of its body. Calling upon her strength, the blue mare braces herself up against the striped creature, but it is far too large for her to move on her own—she is able to shift them both forward perhaps an inch or two, but no more. Her legs tremble with the effort, breaths billowing in curling white wisps from her nostrils. “Somebody help!” She cries desperately, realizing her helpless for this dear stranger and despairing in it.
“Anybody!”
This—this is what she has always feared.
The inability to offer aid.
She has no magic, no companion, or trinkets—she has only the goodness of her heart and the will of her soul. She gives it all to the beast now—murmuring reassurances, talking as if they are old friends, never stopping her gentle chatter for fear of the silence. Her eyes search for healing herbs, anything, but she is not nearly practiced enough to recognize the plants among this icy wilderness. Arching her neck so that her head is pressed into the creature’s shoulder, she rubs its skin, hoping to stimulate the blood flow—at least this she knows. “Mama,” she breathes into the knotted fur, her voice thick with passion, “mama give me strength, give me strength, stay with me…”
notes; yay!:D
“Speech.”
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
