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As the blue mare had predicted, she doesn’t have to wait long. Carried along the crisp winter breeze, twirling and twisting, a whinny reaches her—a breath, an answer. Her dainty ears perking and head nodding once in excitement, she whinnies again (shorter and quieter this time, likely not to reach her dear stranger), but she is hardly able to restrain the anticipation that quivers every fiber of her supple body. Perhaps she should run forward, meet them sooner, but what if she loses her way again? No, she decides to stay put, assuming it will make it easier for her to be found. “I’m going to go back home, mama,” Tiamat nearly squeals, so sure of it, her long tail unable to remain still in her excitement as it flutters over the powdered snow. There is a short gust of wind that rises, lifting a few flakes from the ground and carrying them in dancing spirals to the chilled air. Tiamat feels the sudden breeze circle around her, hears the high whistle as it breezes through the carved crevices of her horn, singing to her—to her soul. Taking this as an embrace from her mother sky (who certainly must feel as equally as excited as she), the unicorn’s delighted laughter peals out again into the frigid breeze. It is on the same breeze that she hears a voice, a word. Faith. Her head spinning around to focus in the direction from where it had come from, her white eyes search eagerly, although it is a moment before she is able to distinguish a figure from the trees. With her lion-like tail twitching about her flanks, Tiamat walks towards him eagerly. There is not a second of hesitation when she reaches out to him, as he does to her, blue nostrils fluttering and white breath curling as she touches her nose to his. He names himself Ashamin—and a curious creature he is (in a good way, of course). He is lanky, awkward, but definitely not distasteful—never distasteful—his body colored a standard black and white pattern, with eyes as dark as hers are light. His tail, reminiscent of her own, is impossibly long (impressive, if she might say), but her gaze is invariably drawn to the black horn that reaches down clear to the tip of his nose! It is knotted at his brow, contorting around some sort of gleaming stone. Tiamat has never seen such a horn before, and is awed by the uniqueness of it. Overall, she finds him quite endearing. “It certainly is! I’m glad you stumbled by. A pleasure to meet you, Ashamin,” she says genuinely, truly happy to see him, and the smile that has never left still lingers to soften her lips, “my name is Tiamat.” She gives a little curtsy of her head—because it is only polite—the windswept tendrils of her mane sweeping about her face as it rises to its natural position. She means to ask about the Aurora Basin, and the bulged sarong that hangs around his withers, but something else steals her attention first. It is by the reflection of light from the white snow that she sees it, or them—the gold wounds that cleave his flank. For a moment, her own excited is overlooked. “Oh my, Ashamin, what—what happened?” She gasps, brow furrowing in worry as she moves to closer inspect the injuries. “What…?” She whispers, confused by the nature of the gilded gashes, but nevertheless concerned for his wellbeing. It is in a time like this, more than ever, that she wishes for the healing knowledge that she had sought so long ago. Perhaps then Ashamin would not have to suffer—because whether or not he is suffering doesn’t cross her mind. Tiamat would wish to help him either way, in any way she could. notes;; okay! I'll pop her over there :D tag;; @[Ashamin] “Speech.” |
please tag Tia in all replies!
magic & force are permitted.
magic & force are permitted.
