Common

So far, everything was working out in her favor. The Dunes were hers. Despite a rather unfortunate sand storm, the land was hospitable enough with its pools of fresh water and thick patches of grass around the river’s edge. Yes she was quite content with her new territory and determined to see it grow into the empire she had always wanted. Bjorn had been full of false promises but his vision was vivid enough to change her way of thinking. She had gone from a carefree, naive child to an ambitious queen, determined to see the vision become a reality.

So, despite the cold chill of the wind and the irritable crunch of frost and snow beneath her hooves, Nyimara finds herself returning once more to the Crossing Isle. She knew that the chances of finding a potential new herdmate was slim, but still she could not help but to venture to the commons. Small mahogany ears tilt back and forth amid the curling mantle of silver white mane. Dark, near black eyes cast a roaming gaze over the scene that surrounds her. The morning sun had not yet managed to banish the frost from the ground. Most of the fields glittered like crystal and diamonds in the sunlight. The skeletal branches of the oak and maple trees stood tall and bare between the needled pines. A reminder that each season had its time and like the small rodents and songbirds, the lands too were beginning to sink into winter’s slumber. Despite being within the grasp of winter, still there were a few others that like her, mingled together in muted conversations. Any other time, she might have found the idea of casual conversation a bore. However, the Dunes were desperately quiet and she needed companionship, much more than she cared to ever admit.

The crisp crunch of hooves on frosted ground draws her attention as a shadowy figure emerges from the treeline. Dark eyes roam over the mare’s solemn figure and find herself caught in her own curiosity. While most mares that came to the commons found themselves nearly immediately surrounded by stallion after stallion attempting to toss whatever empty promise might bring them back home, this girl was strangely alone. Not just alone, sad. It hung over her like an ominous black cloud promised rain. Her dark eyes glistened, even behind the mask of indifference that fit smoothly on her white lined face. Instinctively, Nyimara feels herself draws towards the mare, her own proud head lifted and long neck arched. Slender legs carry her at an effortless prance over the short distance that separated them. ”I’ve seen colts come and go empty handed with a better smile on their faces….” she begins, a mischievous smile curving across her ash dusted lips as she tilts her head towards the woman in invitation. ”What’s gotten you so somber? Tell me you aren’t pining over a boy” A BOY. It was always over a boy. Again, the imagine of Bjorn flashed into her mind and she gives her chiseled head a shake to rid the thought. He was gone, what promises that he had had for her were gone and she did not need to let the thought of him bring her down again.

”My name is Nyimara…” she continues, switching her silver white tail lightly against the supple curve of her hip. ”You don’t smell new here… what brings you to these parts?”.