Dark eyes follow the figure of the lone mare as she kicked and screamed through the meadow as though the very devil himself were chasing at her heels. Small fluted ears swivel back and forth as a sickly sweet smile curves its way across her ashen lips. Even in the erratic behavior, Nyimara saw the power and the cunning that might be molded and carved to fit the complex little herd of fierce spirits she had collectively gathered. The strike of her hooves is precise, the toss of her head full of malice and those eyes, even from the distance that separated them, Nyimara does not miss the wild flames that flicker beneath their depths.
Paper nostrils flare as the delicately built mare gives her own proud head a toss. Adrenaline and fire pulses through her own veins as lithe limbs propel her swiftly down the curved slope where she had watched in silent observation. Now, now, there is no silence in her observation. A scream of challenge burns from her own lungs as she charges headlong down the slope. Ears lace tightly against her skullcap as the silver haired woman fixes the blue roan woman with narrowed gaze. Ashen lips peel back to reveal blunt, yellowing teeth. Like a serpent striking its prey she snakes her head towards the woman’s shoulder, letting teeth pinch the salt ridden flesh between her jaws. As quickly as her teeth connect they release, the slight woman pivoting her heels to shove the point of her shoulder in the stranger’s ribs. ”Come, the desert welcomes the likes of you.” she breathes, words heavy with emotion and unbridled passion. She expected the woman to respond, expected a fight to pursue and in the end, she expected to win the battles of wills, at least this time around. However with war looming on the horizon, Nyimara was not willing to risk losing a potential warrior to the likes of her enemies. From what she observed, this one might just fit in perfectly with the rest of the witches she gathered to her conclave.