“Lost! I’m lost!!”

Over the flat, warm tundra, it is not hard to catch the wailing words as they echo, bringing with them a sense of desperation and helplessness. Raising her head from where she had been inspecting some herbs, Tiamat pauses for the shortest moment—dainty ears erect, eyes widening as concern blossoms within her heart—before she sets off in search of whatever poor creature calls so fearfully. The small sprigs that had been plucked from a flower are still clasped carefully between her lips, waving against plush blue skin like the seaweed in her hair, the air of summer pleasantly comfortable this far north.

The ocean mare doesn’t have much to follow in terms of direction; her ears strain to catch what is left of the wails, now diminished to what seems to be a stream of blubbering, choking sobs. White eyes dance continually across the horizon, the heaviness of worry finally easing its hold on her chest once she notices the small gathering. Even from a distance, it is obvious that the little creature has no small amount of help, but Tiamat does not alter her course. She must check on the babe herself, if only to ease her mind. Her kind heart would never allow her to turn away so blindly.

Her pace slows once the distance diminishes, seashells tinkling against her neck as she turns to braid the sprigs into her hair with the others, before approaching the group. None of the other equines are familiar (and had she not been so focused on the babe, Tiamat would have marveled at the strange creature with toes and a solid, muscled tail), but for now, her attention is centered around the not-so-little, wailing newborn.

Some of the other adults suggest searching together, and the blue mare nods her head absently in agreement—of course they aren’t going to leave this sweet little thing alone without finding his mother! Patiently weaving her way closer to the young one in question, she lowers her head to the babe’s level (which isn’t as far down as usual), and smiles warmly. “Don’t worry, little one,” her voice is lilting and soft, a croon, “are you hurt?” As is instinct for her nature, Tiamat appraises the newborn, searching for any signs of injury—her magic ready to mend.


“Speech.”
Seeking a Leviathan with Boil ability!
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one refusal & two refusal

like the ocean kissed the sky