The mahogany stallion is everything that she had remembered from the Threshold. He is thick coal curls and dazzling sterling eyes, with an expression that is as relaxed and hearty as hers is bright and animated—she is the sun and he is the warmth, spreading through her muscles and bones until she shivers once from the brisk mountain air. With her lips curling into an uncontrollable grin, she laughs softly (more out of appreciation than humor) at his comment of visiting again, finding that she quite likes the idea of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome standing among her beloved frosty peaks.

“Perhaps one of our Weavers can help you with that! They are very talented, and I would like to see you visit again,” the mare’s expression twists bashfully, hardly able to imagine the idea of something as trivial as the weather being able to deter a man like the one standing in front of her (a true man in every aspect of the word). The sea maiden is a virgin in more ways than one—her mind is childlike, carefree, and largely untainted from the black cruelties of the world. To assume the best is all she knows—and all she ever hopes to understand. Given the bitterness and horror of recent events, she clings to her naivety now more than ever before.

A dainty ear slants forward when the stallion continues. She rolls her eyes playfully when he comments on the Throat’s warmth, scrunching her nose up at him and releasing an indignant snort in jest. While Tiamat, by the nature of her heritage, is instinctively drawn towards the sunny climates of her hot-blooded ancestors, she cannot imagine living anywhere else. The Basin has become as much a part of her as her horn, her tail, or her heart.

Her responsibilities now to the mountains are daunting, but she is sincerely excited to give back all that she has been blessed with. Quickly, her smile softens tenderly with these thoughts. “I have been well! Keeping myself busy. There’s a lot to do as part of a herd family, and of course Helovia always offers its hidden treasures,” Tiamat can’t help but cast Reichenbach a lighthearted wink, sure that he has discovered this for himself by now. From the myriad of beautiful people (strong women and  curly-haired men) to the never-ending wonders of both nature and structure (she thinks briefly of the glowing waters Nox had shown her), Helovia is a fascinating world to explore.

Suddenly aware of the proximity between her and the burnished man, the Ocean’s Light smiles, humming quietly to herself before she laughs. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that,” she assures him, nearly ready to enlighten him of her promotion before another familiar face joins them. “Wessex!” She crows with delight at the sight of the muscular woman, reaching out to the dappled soldier as she settles at her side.

Heartened by the unyielding sense of comfort and security that Wessex has always offered, and blissfully oblivious to any fledgling flames of jealousy, Tiamat continues with a brilliant grin. “Yes! Reichenbach is a friend of mine, we met in the Threshold. He hails from the Throat,” her eyes rest briefly on the man with a smile, introducing him with ease and remembering too late that he might uncomfortable. Ghosting with concern, her eyes linger on him when she continues. “Wessex is one of our soldiers,” Tiamat explains by way of introductions, giving her fellow herd mate a proud grin. The sun’s light catches the angles of her face, and illuminates the sparkle in her eyes.

“Speech.”