like the ocean kissed the sky,
at the most beautiful place under the sun

The winged filly is mostly quiet at first, say nothing and eyeing the blue mare with what would seem to be a hesitant gaze. Tiamat waits patiently, her nose still outstretched to give the little stranger time to adjust to the idea, with a soft smile warming the corners of her lips. It is not an uncommon thing for strangers to pause when she reaches out to them. While it is nothing but normal for the young unicorn, she recognizes that not all are so trusting and open to others—particularly those they are unfamiliar with—and while she can’t understand it, she accepts the fact graciously. In any case, the last thing she would want to do is to frighten this young one.

With her leonine tail grazing the spongy ground behind her, the ocean mare’s smile broadens when the filly reciprocates her gesture, the velvet skin of their muzzles grazing briefly before her healer’s heart calls her attention to other things. Her new fledgling friend only hesitates for a breath before giving her permission to tend to her wounded leg. Grinning kindly and trying to convey her pleasant encouragement, Tiamat drops her fine head to inspect the injury closer. “I’m glad to have met you, Galiel,” white eyes glance up from her lowered position, nothing but honest pleasure in her voice (for surely it is not simply manners that compels her to say such things, but her genuine delight to have met someone new).

Returning her focus to the filly’s small wound, it becomes obvious that it is only a shallow abrasion, just enough grazing of skin to expose the fleshy muscle beneath. Nonetheless, spots of blood have begun to appear, pricking forth in slow, fat drops from the narrow scratch. Just as she reaches to sift through the herbs entwined in her hair, fluted ears rotate with Galiel’s question. Tiamat pauses to watch as she speaks, noticing the filly’s apparent discomfort—perhaps even fright—with the mere mention of magic.

She purses her lips before raising her head to its natural position, lowering it then a few degrees so that she is more evenly leveled with the younger equine. “Magic? No, I don’t have any magic—not yet anyway. Only the highest ranked healers of the herds are bestowed special magic from the Gods,” the mare’s tone becomes almost wistful, the chiseled lines of her features softening and her eyes glowing brightly beneath the cool blue light of the plants. “One day I hope to be so fortunate; I was promoted not too long ago though!” She laughs breezily, ever so thankful for the opportunity her Lord and mentor had granted her. She doesn’t intend to let them—or anyone else—down.

Humming gently to herself, Tiamat returns her attention to the abrasion. Quickly making a salve of a combination of all-heal (to prevent any infection from settling in) and valerian root (to reduce any pain or swelling that might occur), she spreads it gently over the wound before snatching a strand of seaweed from her tail. Carefully but firmly she manages to wrap it around Galiel’s leg, acting as a bandage of sorts, to keep both the balm and scuffed skin undisturbed.

“There,” the ocean mare raises her head and steps back, giving the winged filly her space again while offering her a bright smile, “your leg should be as good as new before long—just try to keep out of too much trouble.” Her laughter comes easily, happily, friendly in her tease and obviously with no ill intent. Quieting after a short moment, Tiamat fixes Galiel with a more intent gaze, gentle but curious. “Does magic frighten you, little one?” She does not mean to offend the filly, of course, and it is asked with a gentle and unassuming tone. She can imagine how daunting magic can be. She remembers clearly the first time she had felt the exchange of magic—how different and strange it had been, but utterly wonderful all the same! Perhaps Galiel hasn’t been so fortunate.


“Speech.”