Look to love, you may dream—hope is home,

and the heart is free.

The ocean mare smiles at the gentle touch of Wessex, appreciating the larger mare’s steady comfort and the friendship that has blossomed so easily between the two of them. The half-healed wounds along the right side of her neck and cheek are bitter reminders of the real cruelty of this world—without the aid of the dappled mare, Tiamat fears what would have happened to her on that fateful day. She remembers feeling so impossibly consumed by Kisamoa’s betrayal...would she have been able to get up and get out without Wessex there to drag her back to safety? Truly, she feels indebted to the soldier.

Nimue, having been emotionally traumatized by the bloody outbreak, has also warmed up to Wessex. She had never experienced violence (or negativity of any kind, for that matter) before that terrible time, and is well aware of how the dappled mare had helped her bondmate, when the sheer shock of it all (the brutality, the blood, the hatred, the deception) had shook the ocean pair to their core. The Leviathan drifts briefly away from her bonded’s side to bump her round nose softly against the large woman’s shoulder, trilling a long, low sound of pleasure and basking happily in the soldier’s praise.

It’s only a moment or two after when another familiar face saunters up to the blue mare’s other side. She turns her head, smiling delightedly at the black stallion and nearly blushing at his compliments. “Nox, my dear friend,” she reaches to brush her nose against his, briefly sharing his breath while her lips curl into a small smile. Nimue, upon hearing her name, peers from underneath the sea maiden’s belly, and chirps a short, high-pitched greeting to the Medic. “You flatter me. Both of us have been doing well—Nimue is growing so fast, isn’t she?” Tiamat croons dotingly towards her companion, ever adoring of the little creature.

After that, it isn’t long before their patron god begins his address, commanding every ounce of their attention with his thundering voice and electric skies. Tiamat finds her ears slanting backwards, unease sparking from the terrifying truth of his words. His threats are more than enough to call her to action, to instill a fierce determination to resurrect this mountain valley, and restore life to this beloved herd. And then—

“You. Perky water one.”

Tiamat finds her head raising abruptly, eyes wide as she glances once around her. “Me?” Her voice is almost a stammer, caught off-guard by the sudden fixture of attention, not expecting that she (a meager healer) would ever be personally addressed by their great deity.

“You will replace The Reaper. Don't try and fill his shoes. No one could do that. But lead this herd as you would lead it. Revive what has died here.”

“Replace the Reaper?” The sea maiden murmurs in disbelief, feeling so small and insignificant in comparison to the tremendous responsibility suddenly placed before her. Her initial gut reaction is to recoil, because—surely—it could never be done. But with the mental encouragement of her companion, Tiamat eventually bolsters herself up to the task, knowing that it would be a disgrace to herself, to her people, her god, and to Deimos if she were to shy away from this obligation now. She owes it (her entire self) to them—all of them.

Straightening her posture, Tiamat looks up to the God of the Spark with reverent resolve (and a bit of nervous excitement). “Yes, your godship, of course...I will do my best. I love the Basin and its people. I won’t let you down,” and with that, she bows her head respectfully low, until the length of her forelock brushes against the spring grasses. Raising her head to its natural height, she heaves a charged breath through her nostrils, her head a whirlwind of emotions. “Thank you!” She whispers enthusiastically, breathlessly, to Wessex, Rikyn, and any others that might offer her their congratulations, sending them a rhapsodic grin.

The rest of the meeting continues, with another mare being appointed to lead at her side, and while Tiamat has yet to know the little white woman personally, she offers her an enthusiastic smile of camaraderie.

When their deity goes on to discuss the disarray of Kaos, Tiamat listens as much as she is able to amidst the swirling of her mind. The god’s words are strangely comforting—Kaos cannot be trusted, do not listen to his lies. They have their cause, now, and there shouldn’t be any struggle between right and wrong (if only it could be so simple). At his request of questions, there is a part of her that knows she has a plethora of things to inquire of him, but in this moment, Tiamat is far too distracted to process them properly. She will have to wait for a later time, when she has had the opportunity for her promotion to sink in.

Tiamat—Lady of the Basin.

It’s all so surreal.


notes; So honored you guys!!<33
Mentions @Wessex @Mortuus Nox @Rikyn @Aisling c:
“Speech.”