By the precepts of her purity

____________________________________

"Maren"

A voice said, not hard or soft. Maren's head turned around, eyes big as she had to look up to the one that had pushed herself through and into her bubble of troubled isolation. Framed by the tropical forests' vegetation stood a familiar golden mare. Maren swallowed her whispers, the thickness in her throat. For what else was there to do?

"Tandavi," she nodded, not sure about the vibe that hang between them.

She had not seen Tandavi, the former Sultana and Diviner (what are you now?), in the longest time. Yet, she could not help but wonder what roads the mare had walked since, did not know if she even liked to be here; as she had perhaps so randomly stumbled upon this soft and undecided version of Maren. Just like she herself had on this egg. Tandavi might not know what to do with her, as well. Or maybe they had both been lost, for why else would one come into a place like this? A place birthed from chaos and despair? Didn’t it still stain the air? Wasn’t that the real reason to have come here herself? To simply… get lost?

— Be forgotten; to forget, even if just for a little.

They were not that well acquainted, yet… As far as the tiger mare’s silent, golden eyes could speak, they were almost whispering quiet murmurs of relief. Perhaps it was because the few things Maren knew about her, rested on the idea of her being wise, being trusted. And somehow, in her weak and vulnerable state, she felt like — if that was how the world saw her, then that must be the truth. If anyone, she must know about this element that she had to consider. For once, she had little knowledge about what was important here; companionship.

Perhaps that was why the spark in her eyes turned to one of questioning. She returned her frowning expression back to the egg as she muttered. “...Congratulations?” A little confused — which felt slightly weird and embarrassing. Was this how it usually went? It felt rather… dry.

Inside her former bubble of lonesomeness and confusion, another mare came into their sight. “Amaris”, Maren noticed, remembering the elections for the new king and queen of the Edge… and the patrol they had shared together. As more drops of merged drizzle fell around them, the Fire Dancer softened her voice and told her about herself and Natraj, which made her own gaze wander over to the nine-tailed fox. Maren blinked, wondering why it looked so happy… a little bit too excited for her own taste, but then she realized it must be because they were together. “You speak with him,” she assumed, although her voice was framed by a subtle kind of curiosity. Sure, she had met some who must’ve communicated one way or another with their companions, like Sikaex and Gaucho, but she had never fully realized what it meant - or how it was done. After that, Amaris showed her a red dragon, which she wondered if it was also a companion. It felt similar to her own mists and, although they danced and curled, they did not have a heart of their own. She too did not forget to mention the responsibility and privilege.

The thing was, at this very moment, she didn’t care about responsibility. She didn’t care about the thousands of others who had or had not bonded before her. She didn’t care about what would happen if it were to be sick — if she were to be sick; if she were to die. She didn’t care, because her mind was a battlefield between the right and the wrong. Her heart was a shell filled with silence and the echo of loneliness. She was confused. Angry. Doubtful towards the world, even more towards herself. The only thing she cared about was that it would go away, for it to be replaced by something else. Something better. Something warm; a feeling she had felt for the last time long ago, when she had still been with her lost brother; when the mountains had been their fake castles and the clouds their fake kingdoms; when the dust had still quietly lain in the depths of the valleys, unmoved by the winds of change that were soon to come.

She cared about her faith, about her being, but she couldn’t count on her state of mind as it was now. Still, her nose touched the eggshell, as if it was sorry it had shoved it on its side in the first place. She hadn’t noticed before that it was warm, but it was and it made her warm inside, too. Maybe that was when she realized… Perhaps that was when she knew.

The purple shade around her narrowed pupils shimmered from sudden awe. “It’s HATCHING...!” The words slipped her tongue in a sudden hoot. Then it moved, cracked louder. The excitement in her eyes turned to terror as she pulled back her head, the idea of running away passing her thoughts (this is no good after all) — but she stayed put, belly thrusted deeper into the moist sand as she uncomfortably moved her legs underneath her as she watched the cracks in the glinstering ivory shell grow and increase. Her mind was going crazy, yet her ears were pointed forward in suspense, her nostrils wide and utterly and purely — focused — on the breaking of an egg.

It felt so quiet, besides the beating against her throat, her ears, her chest. Maybe she wasn’t ready for the commitment, but she did need it. She really did — and she felt that, because her heart was fluttering in the softest way. There was a chill all over her skin, while underneath it it was warm, as if the sun had warmed it only for this moment. And she knew, because she wished she could turn down all voices, except the quiet yelps that came from the tiger babe that was slowly emerging from the broken pieces of ivory shell.

She looked at it, intensely. The violet shimmering dancing in the midst of the gold of her irises; slowly softening its uptight flame into a smoldering light. She looked at the tiny, orange tiger body that had fallen along with its tiny tiger head into the long wet grass — it’s so tiny, she realized again. She brought her nose closer, giving it a very, very gentle puff from her nostrils, afraid the animal was going to blow away.

It’s a tiger, she realized stupidly late. It was fitting, since her ancestors had had, next to goats, tiger companions as well. And she was happy it wasn’t a goat, since it meant (even if just a little) she went after her father in the end, after all. She smiled, but then another sudden surprise of a realization came to her mind. Immediately her head shot up, looked into the distance where the battle had been fought. The tigress — The Goddess... She swallowed the air that she had caught in her throat as the hairs on her hide bristled. Perhaps this was her way of showing — Of letting her know... it was okay.

Closure.  

...Yeah, she realized. And, for some idiotic reason, it warmed her soul; warmed the smile with which she looked at her bonded. True Gods never died, after all, for they were always in someone’s heart. This time it had just been hers. From the snout of the tiger came a small yelp and once again Maren’s nose came to the rescue. With its tiny paws it groped the width of her nose, clinged to it. She suddenly remembered the company.

“It needs a name that portrays harmony,” she muttered underneath the weight that hung from her face. Her eyes found the teacup the egg had been hiding under. “I'll call you Teatime,” she childishly pondered out loud. Then the little one let go and fell into the long, wet grass on its back. “Mr. Teatime,” she rectified herself, as she noticed the fluffy underneath. She watched it crawl around for a little bit longer, not noticing anymore how warm her veins had become, how subtly the ripples of a residue-frown had smoothened out. As if she was already used to it.  

And perhaps.

Perhaps Mr. Teatime would prove to be the flight she had lost so long ago.

It had just come in a slightly different package.