Common

It has always fascinated Nyimara, even from youth, to watch as the wounded teeter on the edge of life and death. She has seen her fair share of souls being taken from this world, watched at a young age as her own mother breathed her last breath with a curse to the wolf that stole it from her. She had watched as a wounded deer floundered in a pit of mud on the edge of a frozen lake as coyotes and foxes hovered near to end its suffering. She always found herself fascinated by the way these creatures, all creatures, seem to almost convulse with the last rush of blood through their veins and then fall into an almost peaceful trance as death glassed over their eyes. It was always the same regardless what species of animal that waited on that wavering border.

There was a brief moment, when she first approached the dark mare covered in salt and sand, in which Nyimara wondered if she might be finding yet another creature lingering on the borders of the next world. Tentatively she found her dark eyes watching the steady albeit shallow rise and fall of the mare’s chest, watching as her ribs seemed to rattle with unrest and yet not once did her body convulse with the same last burst of life. It was then that she told herself there was still fight left in the almost pitiful creature before her.

It takes a moment for the dark woman to grasp an understanding of her words. At first there appears to be no outward reaction aside from the blink of tightly shut eyes and the faintest fluttering of her ears as though even the effort to fully rotate them towards her was too much of an effort for her. However when finally the mare does more, Nyimara finds herself stepping backwards with satisfaction as the dark skeleton hauls herself up to a sitting position. Chocolate colored ears rotate backwards as the silver haired woman dips her head to inhale the strong scent drifting from the mare. No infection, at least none from open wounds that she could see. The rattle in her breast could be from the inhalation of sea water but the only way to heal that was to expel it, something that surely would come in due time.

Behind the sunken shallow of her sallow face, the dark woman surveys the lands beyond them, her dark eyes never once trailed up to the shadow of the slight mare hovering near her. Amusement glitters in the silver-haired woman’s eyes as a sneer of disdain slides effortlessly across the dark, salt-crusted lips. That had been her first reaction when she had come here herself all those years ago. Why father was determined to return to the islands and drag her with him had been beyond her. She had seen nothing appealing in the large island nor the inhabitants that called it home. Thinking back now, she remembers how surprised she had been, when finally she brought herself to explore the lands a bit on her own. She was sure there were a few horses on the islands, why else would father have been so adamant on returning here. However, she had not expected to find quite so many. In the lands beyond the mountain where she had been born, there were occasional herds of horses that they had come across in their travels but the small family unit of her parents and herself had not come across very many of them and never had they stayed in one place long enough to get to know each other. Perhaps it was the death of her mother that caused the old wolf to finally set down roots in Atlantis, perhaps it was mere wishful thinking, regardless of the reason, Nyimara experienced herdlife for the first time on the Islands.

Movement from her own peripheral vision draws her attention back from the past to the current moment as the dark woman rocks herself to her foot shaking and unsteady as Cato had been when he entered the world a few weeks ago. She gasped a graveled word. ’The Falls.’ It was a word that Nyimara understood and one that she understood well. It had been the falls that had been her own savior after Bjorn abandoned them on the Ridge. It had been the falls that lulled Raksha to sleep at night when the worst of the silver haired woman’s mental torment kept her pacing until the early dawn hours. Though she doubted that the fresh waters had any real healing abilities, they had seemed to be a savior to quite a few tormented souls. ”And none more tormented than you.” she purrs, more to herself than to the creature who stumbled into her now. Dark ears rotate backwards as the mare’s grimy body presses against her own but the beast within her reminded her that it was nothing a swim in a deep fresh pool could not fix. Slender limbs brace against the weight of the woman, leaning her own slight frame against the taller mare to offer what crutch her lean body could provide. ”Walk on.” she murmurs, her words resolute as her decision to help this pitiful creature. Perhaps she was turning over a new leaf? Helping the strange and wounded? Wouldn’t Ysabel and Siobhan be surprised? The thought caused the beast to laugh. Who was she kidding. A wolf cannot turn into a sheep.