The mare’s white eyes watch the half-buried jar with growing wonder, tracing the innumerable patterns that dance across its smooth surface, colorful and bright, ebbing and flowing—and so obviously full of life. She has never seen anything like this before! Nimue shares her astonishment, as the little whale lowers her nose to inspect the peculiar vase; the curiosity that courses through their bond helps override any of the hesitation that the Leviathan might have, and together they bask in this wonderful object.

“Of course it was me!”

The myriad of voices speak again, somehow booming and grand without being intimidating. Even so, the ocean pair finds themselves startled, and both of them jump backwards at the jar’s sudden exclamation. Nimue retreats to settle in the comfort beneath her bondmate’s stomach, peering at the object from between Tiamat’s front legs. More inquisitive than anything, the blue mare tilts her head, doe-eyes wide and her lips parting in a silent ‘o’ of amazement.

The colorful, incredible jar continues to speak, its tone seemingly far too large and splendid to fit inside the little glass container. “No—no I haven’t, fortunately,” the ocean Lady manages to respond to its question, her sapphire lips quirking into a crooked smile while awkward laughter laces her words. Stepping forward, she lowers her head again, her dainty ears slanting intently forward when the voice(s) continues, explaining its desolate plight. “That sounds terribly lonely,” Tiamat croons softly, hardly able to fathom what life would be like to be trapped and isolated for so long—how terrible it would be!

“I’d be happy to help you—here, let me see if I can get you loose,” pressing her velvet muzzle against the smooth glass, she begins to—as gently as she can, for fear of cracking the jar—push against it, trying to break up the packed sand that surrounds it. Once the ground is loose enough, Tiamat uses the very tip of a cloven hoof to get as far under the vase as she can, and then works it upward. Before long, she is able to reach down and place her teeth gently around the jar’s lid, lift it, and set it down right-side-up on the beach.

Wanting to help somehow, Nimue softly brushes off the sand from where it had been buried. “There you go!” Tiamat smiles, pleased with their work, and hopes that the jar approves as well. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she lowers her head to its level, peering curiously at its vibrant, shifting surface, “What are you? Other than a jar, I mean. Were you here when these islands were in the Rift?” Her ears splay to the side, a little embarrassed and afraid of offending the jar for asking.


“Speech.”