In the first few moments of her arrival, the ocean mare finds the two gentlemen quite worthy of such a gallant title. The large man of chocolate and ebony has a smile so dazzling, that she hardly recognizes how hers  reciprocates, softening into a more demure gesture that hovers between delight and bashfulness. And the other man (Toulouse, he calls himself) has a facade so perfectly ironed and swathed in silk, that her blissful mind cannot yet fathom the black snakes that might slither behind such glittering eyes.

Then Reichenbach compliments her name as lovely, and like any young blossoming (innocent, maiden) mare, Tiamat tucks her head in towards her chest and giggles softly. The length of her lion tail curls happily behind her and her eyes twinkle beneath her lashes. Feeling the emotions through their bond, Nimue stirs, warbling a short whistle to her bondmate as her baby blues trail to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Some more blushing might have ensued, but Tiamat’s attention is distracted when Toulouse speaks. He talks of things that the sea mare would rather not contemplate—dangers, shadows, and monsters—and while Reichenbach murmurs his consent, she finds herself pointedly unphased.

Large white eyes flicker between the two of them, and a patient grin softens her expression. Given the tragedy of recent events—both within her own home and throughout Helovia—Tiamat cannot allow herself to drown in the grief and doubts that swarm her young mind. Clinging to her thread of hope, she returns Reichenbach’s playful banter, as her heart is naturally inclined to more pleasant topics.

“Perhaps I will—life is better enjoyed when you’re not alone. Besides,” she pauses with a raise of her chin, pretending to appraise the large brown stallion with a keen eye, “you don’t seem so bad.” She holds the charade for as long as she can manage, but ever the one with her heart on her sleeve, it isn’t long before her head drops and a chime of laughter breezes past her lips. Shaking her head with a flurry of blue hair and tinkling shells, Tiamat hums quietly to herself, her focus shifting towards Toulouse as the laughter dies. “I’ve been to Helovia’s Threshold many, many times; I appreciate your concern, my friend, though I see no reason to worry,” she reassures the stranger with a gentle smile.

By then, their three-some becomes a company of four. The third stallion is one the ocean mare recognizes from her travels to the outskirts of the Throat (Volterra! She recognizes his name as soon as he introduces himself). Straightway he offers Reichenbach an invitation, to which the burnished stallion challenges with a question.

At this, Tiamat tilts her head a little as her attention narrows towards him, the line of her lips quirking with amusement as she thinks to herself. “Having a home is a wonderful thing,” the sea mare interjects with an explanation of her own—as simple as it is true. “I enjoy mine in the north, the Aurora Basin. I don’t know what I would do without it,” her heart swells and her voice becomes almost wistful as she talks of her mountain valley. It is so much more than a place to live or somewhere to rest or head—it is a part of her. Has Reichenbach never felt that?


“Speech.”

the ocean loved her—

and knew everything that made her