No dreams within her heart,
but dreams of love.

She hears her name and the ocean mare turns her head, pulling back just enough to see the understanding come alight in the stallion’s dark eyes. As recollections seem to trickle into his memory, chasing away the confusion, her smile grows wider and wider, until the white of her teeth glow softly against the blue of her lips. “Yes,” she breathes, airy and light, the single word rolling across her tongue like a long-awaited, desperate sigh of relief. He repeats her name and she clutches him tighter, unable to describe the feeling of relief that has released her from her haunting sorrow. She is overjoyed—euphoric—and clings to her friend as though he is the source of all this joy.
 
He very well might be.
 
“Yes, Ashamin—I’m here! And here you are,” Tiamat moves her muzzle eagerly across his neck, feeling the beating of his heart, the musky smell that could only ever be his, the warmth that is released from his skin and gathers between them—all things that could only ever be Ashamin, and she continues with a breathless, joyous smile, “alive.” Her skin tingles with the containment of her happiness and her heart sings in her ecstasy. It is only in her nature to be so affectionate, especially at a time like this, when she can think of nothing else but to feel him and know, without a doubt, that he is here.
 
That he is alive.
 
The ocean mare embraces the stallion eagerly, almost desperate for his touch—for confirmation that her fears have been for naught, that her friend lives, that this beacon of light still thrives and glows in her life, that it wasn’t real. She has prayed for nothing else. “Don’t ever let that change, okay?” Tiamat whispers earnestly to him, pleads, forgetting for a moment how selfish this request might be. She doesn’t want to lose him—that she knows, and it is that which she implores of him now.
 
Settling into silence for a short moment, Tiamat focuses on controlling her breaths, their movement heavy and deep with the promise of tears underneath. She doesn’t want to break down now, not when she feels so happy and so complete, but her resolve cracks and leaks when her lips part again. “Do you remember any of it?” She whispers almost fearfully, her voice trembling, unsure whether she wants to hear his answer—whether she wants to allow the images to come back. She swallows against the tightness in her throat. “The…pain…” Another pause, her voice more strained as tears swell to gather along her eyelids, and she has to take a measured, shuddering breath before forcing herself to continue.
 
“Your…”
 
No. She can’t say it.

She can’t.


“Speech.”