Despite the mixture of grief and anxiety that boils within the blue maiden, she can’t help but smile at the stallion’s small touch. Her nostrils curl as she exhales a slow, long breath, and leans gently into his muzzle, breathing in the comfort of his musky scent. In sight of everything—Kisamoa’s betrayal, the gods’ upheaval, the Reaper’s death, people leaving, her world being consumed by shadows and doubt—the claw wounds along her cheek and neck seem so minuscule, so insignificant. She is so terribly small. Still, to have the silvered stallion seem so genuinely concerned, it comforts her in a way that she hadn’t been expecting.

When they pull away from one another, and Tiamat attempts to distract her own sorrows with her worry for Mesec, she is relieved when he allows her this diversion. It would be too easy for him—who wears no visible injuries—to brush off her concern. Instead, he accepts it graciously. For this, the sea mare smiles (a gesture that is suddenly in contrast to the stallion’s faltering scowl), and tilts her head sympathetically towards him, noticing the thread of shame that darkens his tone.

Not having any children of her own, the Mender cannot entirely understand what he must be feeling, but with all the compassion of her healer’s heart, she holds him with no fault. Even if Mesec had stayed to fight, had stayed to throw himself into the bloodied fray, who can really say what difference it would have made? The skeletal monster of Kaos had been too strong for all of them—even their own god had advised their retreat. If Mesec had fought, then he would probably be scolding himself now for not protecting his daughter. In Tiamat’s mind, the appropriate choice is obvious between the two, and Mesec had not made a mistake.

Looking up to the stallion, Tiamat searches for his gaze, her dainty ears leaning forward in her earnestness. “It is right that you protected your daughter first. You have been a wonderful father to your children,” she speaks plainly, but sincerely, hoping to spark a light of praise and honor in the midst of his inner remorse. Surely there is a part of him that knows he had done the right thing. “They are fortunate to have you,” the mare continues with a gentle smile, her expression gradually softening. She remembers meeting him that night in the Secret Grove (it seems so long ago, now), and how he had gazed so lovingly to the sleeping bundle of foals, standing as a watchful keeper. Indeed, there is nothing for him to ashamed of.

Then he continues: “We’ll defeat him, Tiamat—just you wait. I have no doubt about that.”

He seems so certain of himself, so positive, that it nearly catches the ocean mare by surprise. How can you be so sure? She wants to demand of him, wanting (needing) to understand what he does. What is this light that he has seen at the end of their tunnel? What is this glorious end that he envisions, when their world has literally been split apart and darkened by monsters who should only exist in nightmares?

“You really think so?” She whispers, scarcely blinking as her eyes hold onto his, anchoring herself to his confidence, and holding on as though it is a lifeline. “I wish I could share your faith, Mesec,” the weight of her body shifts awkwardly and her gaze drops, long lashes brushing against her cheeks as she fights the sudden sting of moisture. Tiamat—ever the light, ever hopeful—doesn’t know what to do, now that she had been left stranded in an ocean of shadows, with no compass to help guide her towards the daybreak (relief) of happiness that her fledgling soul so sorely craves. “I’ve never felt so...uneasy before. It’s uncomfortable, and I don’t like it,” she laughs at herself, shaking out her mane with a tinkling of shells, and feeling very much like a child.

Lowering her head to brush the few stray tears away against her foreleg, Tiamat clears her throat. When she’s able to look at Mesec again, she gives him a grin. “But surely you didn’t come to the Basin just to check in on little ol’ me,” her smiles grows playfully and there’s a twinkle in her eye, some part of her absently wondering if he actually does care that much. “Is there something that you need? Can I do anything for you?” She tilts her head curiously, her leonine tail brushing the grass behind her.


“Speech.”