Nyimara is alive. Excitement thrums through her veins as she charges towards the woman, her muscles contracting and releasing in steady rhythm with the swift churn of her hooves. All the anger, all the hatred, all the mistreatment she has suffered over the years surge forth with the beast that rises from her core with sharp claws extended. Ash dusted nostrils flare as she inhales a deep breath of the wind that whips around her, pulling through the pale silver threads of her mane and cooling her burning neck.
Perhaps it was the same fire that she recognized in the woman before her, the same burning need of release that was an unspoken request between them both. Instead of bowing down or bending away in fear as so many countless others had done, this woman’s burning gaze rises to meet her own. In an instant they are as one, blue flesh pressed against dark brown. The thud of the smoky shoulder against her own is enough to rip the breath from her lungs but that does not stop her. Nyimara imagines that it is Solomon or Bjorn she faces. That it was Siobhan or Tigerlily faced her now with scraping hooves and angry screams. In this moment, it is no stranger that collides with her own flesh, but a combination of the countless enemies she had made over the years. Again a scream of battle rips from her throat. Who! demanded the faces. Who! came the stream that was both foreign and familiar at once. Small muzzle lifts as Nyimara pulled free of the gnashing teeth that reached for her throat. Who! came the demand once more. Who!?
Who was she? She was the eldest daughter of the wolf, fierce and free. She was a mother to princes and princesses regal on their own rights. She was a fighter, proven in battle and war. She was a lover, passionate and tender as even the most gentle could be. She was a queen, her domain eternal even if only in her own mind. She was all these things and more. She was Nyimara. The silver-haired witch queen of the Islands and her name was known far and wide. ”I am…” she growls as muscles bunch beneath her silken skin to propel her harder against the blue roan mare. Long, sleek neck arches as she cranes her neck over her counterpart’s withers, parting her lips to allow yellowing teeth to scrape the flesh. ”I am Nyimara.” she rumbles, exhaling a deep breath as she takes a step back to once more bring her dark eyes to meet the other. ”I am the queen of chaos…. And you… you will join me.” she breathes her voice deepening with heavy meaning. Yes. Together… She would gather chaos in Salem and together they would rise like a churning storm over the islands, destroying all who opposed them. Together…. together.