The fallen mare is noticeably dazed—her eyes are glassy and she seems to have trouble getting into the rhythm of speaking. Tiamat’s brow knits together in concern, though her expression is soft. “It seems you have,” she says to the winged stranger with a smile, laughing gently between them. She listens patiently, her heart going out to the other mare, especially when the stranger seems to be so alone and so lost. It was many years ago now, but Tiamat remembers what it was like before she had been found in the Threshold—without the Basin to call home, without her friends to support her, she had very little to anchor her in her life’s paths.

“That would be my own herd, so I’m pleased to say that you will find the shelter there that you need,” the sea maiden’s smile broadens for a moment, her healer’s heart eagerly accepting this mare as one of her own. Her grin lingers while the man shifts closer to the injured woman. After all the tragic things that have befallen them recently, it is so refreshing to witness the goodness of this world—if it were more socially acceptable, she would already have the stallion in an embrace. “A pleasure for me as well,” Tiamat says to him, reaching forward to brush his nose if he will accept the gesture.

He continues, explaining that he is from the Dragon’s Throat, and knows their Haruspex, Frost Fyre (a mare the Mender has only met once, briefly, but she smiles all the same). As she watches the strangely-marked equine comfort his wounded companion, her heart swells delightfully. “You’ve already done a wonderful job, Astarot. In a place like this, the cold can harm more than your muscles. She is lucky to have you with her,” Tiamat reassures him with earnest, truly admiring his actions to help an apparent stranger.

Reaching to pluck a dried purple flower from the braided seaweed in her hair, the blue maiden offers it to Astarot, enlisting his help. “Will you make a salve for me?” She looks to him with a grin shadowing her lips, placing the All-heal on the ground between them. “Crush this into a powder and mix it with a little bit of snow, and then rub it on the worst of her wounds. It will help fight infection,” she explains to both of them, sure that the pegasus will want to know what’s happening as well. Closing her eyes then, Tiamat lowers her head, and places her muzzle lightly on the other mare’s forehead. Summoning the magic given to her from the Time God, she heals the stranger, hazy wisps of white occasionally wafting over the injuries.

It’s not an exceptionally quick process, but before too long, the ocean mare is finished. “That is the most I can do for now,” she pulls back, panting once or twice to regain the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The pegasus’ wounds don’t look much different from the outside, since she is still smeared with blood and the skin is still broken, but there is no fresh blood leaking, and the muscles that had been lacerated are now stitched back together. Inwardly, she should still be sore, but better.

“The bleeding has stopped and your muscles are healed together, but they are weak. It will still be a few days until you can use that wing again. You should rest,” Tiamat nods to herself, sure now that the worst is over—but before they can celebrate, they need to move the winged stranger to safer ground. Stepping closer to the other mare, Tiamat sidles to her side (if she’ll allow it), and looks across towards Astarot. “I’ll support this side, and you take the other?” The sea mare presses gently against the wounded shoulder, bracing herself to share the stranger’s weight. “We’ll help you,” Tiamat encourages her, offering a reassuring grin.


“Speech.”