he put an arrow through my heart
That voice, calling her name.
It was not Björn.
A shiver ran the length of her spine, but she turned to face that figure in the fog with a battlehymn ringing in her bones.
Nyimara.
It caught her off-guard, something she’d thought the silver-maned mare could never do, not after all that had transpired between them. Tigerlily believed she knew what Nyimara was capable of, but time would certainly reveal that much about the wolfish bay mare had changed.
It took a moment for the buckskin mare to overcome her initial shock (for truthfully, her former herd-mate-turned-nemesis was one of the last souls Tigerlily had expected to find), but when she did, before Nyimara said anything else, she gestured with her muzzle and led them away from the stranger in the mists whom she’d accidentally disturbed (even as they seemed to take leave as well), non-chalantly heading in the direction of the meadow.
They didn’t get far before a name fell from the silver bay’s lips, and Tigerlily was held hostage by disbelief. Her head snapped around, and she levelled a heavy stare at Nyimara, searching for cracks in the warmth she saw in the mare’s expression.
“But it is the Inlet, not the Arch, that is his true home,” Tigerlily countered.
“Surely he’d not settle for anything less, not when he still holds favour with the Shore Queen. If anywhere, he'd go there to recoup.” Having expressed her doubt, Tigerlily – still watchful – eases a little in her scrutiny, and listens to whatever explanation Nyimara attempts to feed her.
It must be some kind of game, surely, but the pale-faced mare is baffled.
And her bewilderment quickly sparks into fierce flames that burn in defense of herself, throwing up an invisible wall between them as Nyimara’s next words ring in her ears, and every instinct within her is screaming:
don’t trust a single word.
“For all the things you may believe me to be, it would be very unwise of you to think me a fool, Nyimara,” Tigerlily snaps vehemently, ears pinning as she takes a step back and the muscles in her shoulder and hindquarters quiver in preparation for the fight or flight she half expects she’ll be forced to choose between.
“Don’t you remember the way your heart cried for blood just as mine did that day in the Forest of Luthien? You’d been prepared to kill me, and now you expect me to believe you’d willingly lead me back to Björn?” Her eyes are flat and cold, like the sky just before a storm.
“Out of the goodness of your heart?” she mocks, as if to imply she doesn’t believe there ever has been any goodness in her, or any heart at all.
And she watches for any sign of weakness, making no attempt to hide her intent. She’s ready to shake Nyimara until the truth comes out. It’ll be less painful (for the both of them), if the silver bay acquiesces, but Tigerlily half-expects her to sink her heels in and retaliate, and truthfully, the buckskin wants it.
Just give me an excuse. Go on. Just try me.
With vitriol in her voice, to show Nyimara just how serious she is, she serves up an ultimatum.
“Give me one good reason,” she demands,
“And be straight with me. No lies, Nyimara. Tell me why I should do anything you say, or take a single step alongside you.” Tigerlily would have Nyimara know that in their time apart, she had changed too. Björn could not be used against her – it was from him that she drew her greatest strength. But she was not without weaknesses – fierce as it was, her heart still bled, and despite everything, as desperately as she guarded herself, she was very much an empathic soul. The question was, would Nyimara resort to aggression, or continue to dig for her weaknesses deeply buried as they were.
“Now, Nyimara, or turn around, vanish into the mist and don’t ever let your shadow fall across mine again.”