Common

The silver haired witch makes the crossing from Salem easily enough, the turbulent waters that usually accompany a passing storm long reined into submission by the warm weather of summer. In truth, the coolness of the ocean and its sea breeze is a welcome relief to the blistering sun of the desert island. Nyimara’s hooves find purchase in the sandy shallows far sooner than she is ready to relinquish the feeling. Instead of rushing ashore as she normally might have done, ready to take on whatever challenge it was that had brought her to this island, the fierce woman lingers between land and sea, wading through the frothy waters and relishing in the feel of the water as it lapped at her slender sides. Even the gulls, usually quite annoying birds, provide her with amusement as they twist and dive through the skies after whatever unlucky insect or small bird dared to come so far from the safety of the trees.