no dreams within her heart,
but dreams of love

As the larger mare settles into the balmy waters, Tiamat smiles at her reaction, the brown woman noticeably pleased to have a chance to rest her travel-weary muscles. Enjoying the comfort herself, Tiamat can’t imagine how the other must be feeling (having wandered much, much farther, and much longer, than the Mender has in the last few days). Qeren gradually saunters further into the hot spring’s depths, while the sea maiden slips back towards its damp banks. Stepping back into knee-high waters, she lowers herself to the spring’s floor, sighing audibly and closing her eyes blissfully before she returns her attention to her new herd mate.

Qeren speaks of how her mother had crafted, and how she had worked with her at times. This little picture, at least, seems to be some sort of redeeming light in the bay mare’s otherwise bloody history (as far as the sea maiden is aware). A soft and pleasant smile curves her sapphire lips. “You’re welcome to craft here as well, if you would like,” her grin deepens cheerfully, white eyes shining, encouraging Qeren to follow whatever path her heart longs for.

“There are different tiers within each rank, so you would first start at the beginning, as an Apprentice, and move up as you learn. Our Weavers would teach you—they are gifted with magic from the Time God to create the most beautiful textiles,” her gaze flutters briefly to the clear skies above, to where her own mother watches over her, and wonders if that is where their patron deity watches over them as well. The Time God gives them so much—their home, wisdom and guidance, the power of healing, and the ability to create something beautiful from nothing…

With that train of thought, Tiamat returns her eyes to Qeren, her expression softening as memories flit through her thoughts. “I’ve seen them construct things from warm scarves to thick blankets, sturdy tents, and even strong armor,” instinctively the adorable face of the Basin’s resident candyman comes to her mind. Johnny had been a Weaver for a long time before he fell ill—idly she wonders if he will continue his trade as he heals. He would be a delightful mentor for anyone. “I’m sure you would do well,” the blue mare assures Qeren with laughter lacing her voice.

An unexpected nudge against her shoulder has the ocean mare turning her head, her smile growing affectionate at the sight of her companion. Having had her fun in the glassy waters of the lake, Nimue now settles at the edge of the hot springs, resting her smooth body among the long grasses and leaning against her bondmate. Tenderly brushing her muzzle across the whale’s forehead, Tiamat sweeps her eyes again to Qeren. “What did your mother used to craft with?” She inquires softly, delicately. While her curiosity is genuine, Tiamat does not want to prod any raw memories that the taller woman might hold.

“Speech.”