No dreams within her heart,
but dreams of love.

Tiamat cannot know the shadows that linger to haunt the stallion’s mind; she wouldn’t understand his black desire to be wrapped up in that darkness once more, cradled and sheltered and comforted in its sweet, sweet embrace. She wouldn’t know how to distinguish the beauty in his longing, seized only by the coldness. After all, it had not been so soothing for her. All the ocean mare can remember is the pain, the agony that had swirled and thrashed until she feared she would drown beneath it, only to be pushed further down by the guilt that had clawed and laughed with a toothy, cruel grin.

It…it had been—torture. Harrowing.

She can still see him when she closes her eyes, his body—torn, mangled, and bleeding—falling still, falling like a cold stone against her knees because she couldn’t save him. Because of her. The mare shudders violently, still consumed by the nightmare and pressing herself closer to her painted friend, oblivious to his resignation, his submission. Drinking in his presence, his warmth, she only sees him—alive and well—with his assurance breathing like a warm balm over her quivering muscles. “Good,” her voice is a trembling sigh similar to his own, but succumbing to brighter, more encouraging things.

“I need you,” the ocean mare can barely force the heady words from her tongue, so thick is her throat with emotion, her eyes blinking furiously as she fights the urge to cry again, “I need you alive.” Tiamat does not quite comprehend what it is that grips her so fiercely. She doesn’t know what compels her to say such things, knowing only that they are true, that she cannot imagine a world without the Haruspex and his friendship.

She does not know what she asks of him—what a burden it might be, to plead of him to stay, to live. Who would ever wish for death? She is innocent, naïve, and inexperienced in the mercies that such a release could bring. She only knows its brutality.

Pressing her nose to his, Tiamat’s nostrils tremble with each breath, exhaling into the darkness of the cave with slow, long heaves of slender shoulders. Her eyes close at his voice, a single tear managing to escape from her beneath her lashes. “Yes,” she swallows heavily, her eyes slowly opening as she trails her touch to his cheek, savoring every inch of his skin, warm with life. “I will be here,” her gaze searches for his, the night’s glowing light framing them together. Unlike the stallion, she fears death—she cannot imagine yielding to its cold grip, clinging too fondly, too desperately to the life and friends that anchor her here.

Perhaps, one day, when her innocence no longer shelters her, she can find a similar peace with their old friend.

Hugging against him then, a foreign scent manages to leak into the ocean mare’s awareness. Tangy and rancid, it prickles the skin along the back of her neck. Pulling away a little, she notices the blood—his blood?—and suddenly, the nightmare returns to leap at the forefront of her mind, chilling her skin. “What happened to you?” It is a gasp of concern, reprimanding herself for not noticing it sooner. “Ashamin—are you alright? Here, I have something that will help—” Tiamat shifts back just enough to sift through the herbs braided into her hair, intent on helping him. She will not lose him a second time.

She couldn’t survive it again.


notes; I'm sorry it only took forever!
“Speech.”