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Cold evening wind rushes over the white expanse of the basin and crashes into the bare chest of young Tiamat, who stands proudly on an outcropping overlooking her new home. At her feet, iced-over patches of grass mark the very death that she finds wonderful and exciting. Everything here is but an example of nature at its extreme to her. She cannot take her eyes off the glittering scene that is forever blanketed in the shimmering white reflection of light off of the ice. Even now, late at night when mother sky has gone to rest and her sisters the stars come out to play, Tiamat can see the corners of the earth here outlined by the lights in the sky.
Feeling restless, she kicks off from the low mountainside ledge and lands neatly in the path of tall, grey grasses growing on the outcropping in its shadow. Her motion does not stop, however; fluid and constant like the rain, she dances down the mountain path that has been worn by so many before her, until she is bathed in the warmth that spreads forth and free from the Basin's hot springs. Her cleft hooves press in to the softer ground and the grasses that still grow green by the ever-present source of heat.
Here, she is happy. As she inhales and lets the warm steam fill her lungs and soothe her throat, as she bends to graze from the grass, she feels contentedness and a growing sense of familiarity rise within her breast. This is her home, and she would not have it any other way. With a slight nicker to no one in particular, she edges closer to the springs and lets the warm, comforting tug of her brother's shore lap against her cannons. The warmth is welcome and kind in the dark night that grows colder each minute. She is alone, but not scared.
What, after all, is there to be scared of in one's own home?
[Sparrow first, anyone else allowed/welcome after!]
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