The ocean mare stands at no particular place, her cloven hooves buried in the soft snow with a trail of hoof prints curling behind her, white eyes looking out over the mountain valley before her gaze trails upward. The sun has since disappeared behind the frosted peaks, leaving the Basin in a haze of twilight. Clouds, swollen with the promise of a storm, hang low, dipping beneath the white summits to shadow them ominously. Tiamat shivers as the gales of winter winds envelope her dainty figure, but she lingers a moment longer.

“Goodnight, Mama,” her soft voice is lost too soon to the winds, but Tiamat knows that she is heard—her mother always hears her, always listens, and is always watching over her. It won’t be long before the light of day is tucked into night’s velvet blanket, unfolding the stage for her sister stars. However, the ocean mare is nearly sure that she won’t be able to gaze upon their beauty tonight—it would seem like her sister clouds are not anxious to give up their limelight. Huffing a sigh from her nostrils and smiling to herself, she finally moves, the length of her leonine tail curling around her legs.

The blue mare bows her body against the blustering breath of Frostfall, her dark hair dancing in wild billows about her face. The chiming of her seashells peal to the steady whistle of her horn, the hollow decorations singing their own song as the breeze trills through their carved designs. It is the song of nature—of her family—that urges slender legs forward, eyes squinting through the gloomy darkness to see the flickering warmth of a fire ahead.

Recognizing it as the cave of her dear friend, Tiamat presses forward, slipping only once or twice over the rocks before reaching the cozy cavern. “Good evening, Nox,” the blue mare greets him happily, her gaze averted as she shakes herself free from the snow that had been carried from the ground, flakes of white dust wafting from her back and hair as she does so. “How ar—” Tiamat’s voice is stolen from her when she looks to him, her throat tightening and eyes widening in something between horror and surprise.

The black stallion’s skin—normally calloused with scars—is now freshly marred, bleeding with raw wounds that drip their thick liquid over his muscles and onto the stone floor. Needless to say, she had not expected to see him like this. “Nox! What happened—are you okay? Do you have herbs? I do, let me help,” Tiamat’s words spill from her lips in a quick rush, her mind turning like clockwork as she decides what needs to be done to heal him. Rushing to his side, she combs urgently through her medicines.

“Speech.”

dreaming the day away!