So intense is her focus on the large egg and the little crack streaking across its surface, that the approach of someone else initially startles the ocean mare. Glancing up, the wide alarm of her eyes quickly melts into joy once again, always delighted to see the familiar face of a dear friend. “Rexanna! And little Remy!” She smiles widely to the spotted pair, accepting their company eagerly. The excitement in her voice is surely infectious, its sweet aura seeping from every fiber of her being. If it were possible, Tiamat would undoubtedly be glowing in this moment.

Lowering her head a fraction, the blue mare watches as the little polecat wanders closer to the precious egg, her smile softening warmly when he presses his fuzzy head closer to the speckled, glittering surface. She wonders if companions themselves have some unspoken connection with one another. Perhaps the adorable little rodent remembers the day of his own hatching, how joyous it must have been—and wanting that same blessed luxury for other companions. Perhaps the ocean mare is putting too much thought and emotion into a simple action, but so full is her heart, she can’t help herself.

Her attention diverted when Rexanna reaches out, Tiamat returns the gesture, silken lips bursting again into a smile as she brushes her muzzle against the golden’s. “I know, I know, it’s happening,” she giggles breathlessly, hardly able to realize the reality of the blessing she has been given. It’s like living a dream, the same dream that has been harbored in her heart for years, precious and unassuming—among the most treasured of aspirations. It’s almost too good to be true.

“Oh I don’t know, honestly,” she answers the other mare’s question with a soft smile, and it is obvious in the way she holds the egg with her eyes, that it doesn’t matter what sort of creature has been brought to her. The young Mender hasn’t thought much about what kind of companion she would like (she isn’t sure she knows all of them anyway), only that she has wanted one at all. Turning to Rexanna when she continues, Tiamat reaches to press her head gently against the golden’s shoulder, sighing blissfully while her eyes rest on her glistening treasure. “Thank you,” she murmurs as quietly as the Thief had spoken, wondering how similar her and Remy’s experience had been.

In all of this, Tiamat’s eyes rarely leave the egg. As the single crack multiplies into a shallow web of lines, she lifts her head from Rexanna’s shoulder, stepping to hover over the precious babe. The world gradually fades around her, colors blurring like watercolors and sounds melting into soft, musical hums. It is only them for now, a spotlight illuminating the ocean mare and her egg in a glorious halation of light and intensity. Suddenly—at last—a single fragment of the shell breaks free—enough to see movement within.

Tiamat holds her breath,

An eye. An eye (a blue so bright and clear like crystal) peers out into the world. The mare’s heart flutters, pattering in barely-contained enthusiasm as the beginnings of a new life begin to fit together (but that’s not right, is it? Not a new life, but the life she has had all along, only now it is complete).

The crystal eye retreats, and less than a breath later, the shell’s surface splinters into unorganized, beautiful patterns—and then, like a waterfall ballet, the patterns fall to the ground. Hardly daring to breathe, Tiamat leans forward, peering into the bottom half of the egg. Nestled comfortably in a circle, staring with eyes slightly too large, lies the most beautiful creature that the blue mare has ever seen. “Hello, little one,” she is scarcely able to speak, the swollen joy of her heart welling to burst through every part of her.

At the sound of her voice, the babe blinks, rising (floating, swimming) to the shell’s edge, where Tiamat stands. The mare’s lips curve softly, smiling tenderly at this newborn soul, white eyes shining. “It’s incredible to finally meet you,” —oh, what an understatement it is! But this moment is far too precious to cheapen with elaborate words, and far too sacred to degrade with a show of anything other than the raw, wonderful emotions that saturate her heart— “Nimue.” The name slips almost unbidden from her tongue, so right as it moves into place as if it has always belonged. The tiny orca (no larger than the mare’s dainty head) whistles in response, a short, shrill sound of pleasure.

Breathing a breathless, wonderstruck sort of laughter, Tiamat presses her nose against the slick, supple skin of the babe.

How to describe this moment?

It is her soul, her very self, that has grown—but not in a way of simply expanding. Rather, Tiamat has realized a part of herself—a part that has always been there, only waiting. Similar to how a light illuminates the shadows (it doesn’t make the space larger, it merely shows you what has been there all along, hidden from your eye), so how her soul has been brightened. She doesn’t want to look away, for fear of losing a moment with this treasure (this gift) that has finally opened her world. Lovingly she nuzzles against the orca babe, her voice so quiet, so tender, and so happy, “My little Nimue.”


Nimue reference <3
“Speech.”