Common

Nyimara was growing restless. Though she adores Warduna, mothering the offspring she showered with affection was not as high on the priority list as ensuring she stayed favorable in Aranck’s eyes. Though every emotion between them was forced and masqueraded, the callous lack of emotion that blanketed the silver haired stallion, still they both made an attempt to keep others around them from thinking there was anything but loyalty and honor between them. However whatever his faults, those she continued to deny and those she avoided, the stallion did give her the beautiful mirror image filly with her splash of white. Warduna was her pride and joy. She did her best to continue to dote upon Skogsra, if only to ensure that Bjorn would not corrupt the girl as he had with Raksha and with Siobhan had done with Sigurdr; however in truth, Warduna was her favored be far. The small girl, for her youth and newness into the world, already showed signs of promise. Her small dark eyes were calculating in the actions she took, her movements precise and growing more and more elegant and graceful as the days passed. It would be years still before the youthful gangliness gave way to the beautiful swan, but Nyimara was sure that sooner rather than later, it would happen.

However, despite how much she adored her newborn daughter, the frustration and irritation she felt towards Aranck in this moment was enough to send her racing towards the main island at the first opportunity. Angrily she let her hooves churn the sea beneath her, imagining that it was the damned silver haired stallion who so casually treated her as nothing more than a disappointment. Solomon was after her for some transgression that she was sure she could have cared less about and Aranck was as nonchalant as ever.

Teeth grind between closed jaws as the pale haired woman allows her anger to froth into the surf. It does not take her long to reach the main island, her destination self chosen long before she even left the borders of the Arch. The land was far to quiet. No more did the screams of Siobhan haunt the dark nights, no more did the sulking Bjorn linger in the open with his piercing blue gaze. Only Raksha and Skogsra remained and the less that Aranck's gaze lingered on her daughters the better.

Her steps are calculated and controlled, pacing herself for what lay ahead. She was no stallion with suave words and false promises. She was Nyimara. The fox. The trickster. Cunning all the same.

Small ears perk amid the water logged tangle of wet hair. Paper thin nostrils flare as she inhales the sweet, familiar scents that had once been both foreign and familiar to her. There were not many in the commons today, not much of a suprise considering that many mares were perhaps still heavily pregnant with foals. No doubt their stallion's were keeping them close. However the lands are not completely empty and void of life.

Auburn eyes catch a glimpse of the dark woman as she charged across the open grasses, fury and fire burning in each fierce step. Dark brows narrow as she watches the woman pause here and there, snatching up mouthfuls of grass and vocalizing her displeasure. That fire, the burning… the Arch needed it. Aranck needed it.

Wickedly a smile curves across her dark lips as Nyimara lets the mare close the distance between them for her. Though the mare was wary enough of strangers to keep a respectful distance, she did not know Nyimara or the determination that burned like a carefully stoked ember within. Nyimara does not waste time with niceties, she was neither a fan nor did she imagine such tactic would be appreciated. Instead she lunges forward with a squeal of her own as the mare moves past. Dark eyes narrow as a coy smile slides across her lips. Sleek mahogany crest arches as the pale haired woman snakes her head forward to place a nip on the dark girl's shoulder. Her claim.

" come now. " she begins, angling her slender form nearer to the dark woman. " you look as though you need an outlet for your rage. Come. The Arch calls. My Aranck will soothe your demons " she continues, her unusually long tail flicking impatiently against her hocks. Smugly the grin begins, a challenge twinkling in her dark gaze. " or he will turn you into one "