Look to love, you may dream—hope is home, and the heart is free.

Rexanna has no need to worry about Tiamat figuring out their beautiful little secret. The fact of Rexanna’s and Ashamin’s unspeakable acts remains a complete and blissful mystery to the ocean mare. There is no way that she would have assumed it of them, especially with the two of them battered with wounds from their recent spar—and even if she did happen to have any inkling as to what had happened, she wouldn’t dream of saying anything (even if a blush and bashful giggle would escape from sheepish lips). As it is, she is still wonderfully oblivious, completely consumed with her duties as she works nimbly with the herbs.

She is delighted with how willingly and humbly the golden mare accepts her assistance. Tiamat does not consider herself really strong, or even particularly spectacular in any way—they are all a part of nature’s magnificent circle, no matter how small, each holding a piece of the clockwork that helps the world go round—and it swells her gentle heart with joy to feel needed. Like she has made a difference. This herd is her home, her family; she loves them unconditionally, and would do just about anything for them.

Stepping back from the other mare, she smiles at her work, the smile broadening sympathetically when Rexanna’s face twists with the bitterness of the herb. “You’ll probably want to have something sweet close by, for after,” the blue mare’s laughter chimes again before she sifts once more through her hair, snagging a small peppermint leaf and handing it to Rexanna, “Here’s this, to help now.” Her pale eyes are gentle, the length of her leonine tail sweeping over the snow behind her before she hears the Haruspex’s voice, and she looks to him with tulip-shaped ears pressing forward.

“Thank you, Ashamin,” she smiles appreciatively at him, sure that he will keep his word, and look after their herd mate when she cannot. Tiamat touches her cheek to the stallion’s, breathing in the comfort of his familiar scent and radiating warmth, before turning to the golden mare and offering a velvet muzzle in the same gesture. Ashamin is one of her dearest friends, she cherishes him, and this lovely Rexanna is already accepted with all the affection and kindness of her uninhibited heart.

Sighing with peaceful, unburdened contentment, the ocean mare steps back again, returning her attention to the painted stallion. Grasping more of the Echinacea flowers in her lips, she offers them to him with a hopeful grin, “Here’s some for you too—I think they’ll do you some good.” Not-so-absentmindedly she wonders if Ashamin will accept the healing herbs. She remembers that night in the cave, when he had pushed them away despite his injuries—Lochan had taken them then, ever watchful of his bonded. An affectionate glance is cast to the dark cerndyr, so very proud of him, even if she hopes he won’t have to take them again.


notes; Sorry for your wait!
“Speech.”