Wheeling Gull Isle all hail king neptune

The others words were met with a thoughtful headtilt. Do you think I forgot what I said? came her swift rebuke, although if she were to be honest--which she rarely was--then she would have admitted that the other had been right. Still, Tiamat clarified, pleased with her previous word choice in this instance. How very clever you are, she had to commend herself, before she drew nearer to the scaly-lipped stranger. I hoped. I knew you would live. Of course I did. I, above all other dead beings, have a talent in knowing these things. Tiamat sought to swell her chest with pride, though scarcely increased in size at all. She was legs and narrow chest, hips, hips. Long muzzle, and ears that were wolfish as opposed to the longer lobes that betrayed to any who knew the others blood what ran within. Tiamat, however, did not know. What she saw was a long-eared wolf, unattractive and awkward. Surely easy to manipulate for her strangeness. Tiamat would accommodate her, so long as it suited her. Surely there was more good than harm (for herself) in that.

Tiamat paused, deflating as she moved forward. You look thirsty. Let me lead you to freshwater. And allow me to explain. Tiamat drifted away, moving with an incoming breeze; the movement itself suggested she was one with the wind, which somehow suited her declarations (she liked to think). There was nothing truly supernatural to Tiamat; the gangly she-wolf was far from special. But it was this she played on, relied on, even. So many had preconceived notions of the dead. Tiamat aspired to tell the "truth". At least her own version (as ever).