The night wears on, the little gathering falling mostly quiet among themselves. The fire crackles and sizzles in the center of their circle, seeming to play with the light of the mountains, colors reaching and tagging each other through the darkness. The ocean mare’s gaze has fallen to watch the fire, trailing along the burning embers and up to the fiery pillars, ever moving and ever wild. It is beautiful, but Tiamat finds that she prefers the softer, kinder hues of the mountain’s light—the vibrant waves that play with her sisters stars.
 
Shifting her weight to a more comfortable position, the blue unicorn’s ears twist forward when Ashamin speaks up. Her eyes are soon to follow, resting softly on the lines of his face, the gnarled knots of the horn that trails down the bridge of his nose.
 
He dismisses them then—his voice is unmistakably fatigued, highlighting the weariness (sorrow?) in his features, crowned softly in the orange glow of the fire. The blue mare hesitates for a short moment, her lion tail swaying once behind her as her white eyes search his face, concern glistening in her gaze. Ashamin is one of her dearest friends—of course she worries for him, especially seeing him so weighted by the grief she can only manage a taste of, so heavy in comparison to his usual gentle self. Her heart hurts to see him in such a state. Even in her own sorrow, in her own fears, the innocence of her mind could not possibly comprehend what darkness might haunt him.
 
She only wants to see him smile again.
 
Exhaling a slow breath from her nostrils, Tiamat casts her eyes to the others—particularly towards Öde, where her gaze lingers worryingly over his ghastly wounds, concern budding for a moment on her lips—before she returns her attention to the Haruspex. The weight of her body is shifted forward before she extends a slender foreleg, walking closer to him and reaching out to brush his cheek softly. Her eyes seek the contrast color of his, the corners crinkling a little when she offers him a gentle smile.
 
“Thank you for the lesson,” her grin broadens. Tiamat would not have missed this for anything—healing has been (and always will be) the true calling of her heart, but the study of anything, the gathering of any knowledge, is something she delights in. She thrives in learning, in studying. To catch a glimpse into his calling, is an experience she is honored to have shared. “Ashamin,” the ocean mare continues, her voice dropping lower, meant only for him, “Are you alright? Is there anything I can do for you?” She doesn’t press him, but she can’t leave him alone, without having tried.

And at last I see the light.