From the shaded brush and frosted meadows, the oceanic pair emerges. Nimue, as she often does in large gatherings such as this one, lingers close to her bonded’s side, floating at the mare’s flanks while her large eyes gaze around with silent curiosity. Tiamat, with her cloven hooves cutting neatly through the travel-worn snow, approaches the crowd more quietly than usual. She is still delighted to see all these faces—both friends and strangers alike—and her dainty ears still press forward eagerly; but, if one were to look closely enough, perhaps they would notice the way her posture (ever so subtly) has wilted.

There is an ominous gloom that has managed to sneak its way into her blissful little world—pricking through her paradise like the slender point of a needle, pulling behind it a black thread that has slowly and deliberately come to darken her fragile bearing. Tiamat does not understand these churning clouds that have come to smother her light. She does not understand the bitterness and betrayal that have only been ignored instead of confronted. (Because how? What is she, a porcelain doll, supposed to do amid these strange, ghoulish demons?)

So she does what she has always done—all she knows how to do. She believes. She believes that this world has not forsaken her; she clings to the hope that, somewhere, somehow, there is a purpose behind this doubt that has seized her so fiercely. Blindly she believes. Blindly she trusts that the goodness in the world—that the goodness in herself—has not (cannot, will not) betray her.

Blind, she does not understand how unfair and cruel the world can be.
(But that is a lesson for another day).

Like so many others, she heeds the ancient turtle’s welcome. Stepping up to the great tree, she presses her soft nose against its rough bark, closing her eyes as she inhales its rich, earthy scent—and a warmness spreads through her. For Tiamat, nature is home. Nature is family. This tree is as wise and as magnificent as the old creature who stands beside it; she feels honored to be in the presence of them both. With her glass heart trembling from emotion, Tiamat reaches to pluck a seashell from her hair, and places it among the needled branches. Strangely, the two look like they belong together—a beautiful marriage of land and sea, not unlike the young maiden herself.

Smiling with a bliss that is reminiscent of her usual cheer, the blue mare shifts her eyes to the Earth Turtle. “What a blessing to see you again,” she speaks to him humbly, bowing her neck to brush her nose again the green orb around her neck (a gift from the creature’s previous visit). Overcome by the surge of feelings that has trembled and shocked through her delicate frame, Tiamat slips off the golden necklace as well. Reverently, she hangs it on the branches by her shell, unexpectedly touched by the comfort that soothes her inner turmoil.

For now—for at least a moment—she can be at peace again.


notes; Tia offers a seashell from her hair, as well as her Light of the Turtle charm!
“Speech.”

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once

in a lullaby.