The days of her rule over the Cove were coming to an end far quicker than she was ready for them to. Yet even then, the silver-haired witch found herself excited to once more feel the sand of Salem beneath her toes and the warmth of the sun across her back. Despite winter still being weeks away, Tinuvel was already growing its thick, winter blanket. Yet even with Solomon’s heir in tow, and a few loyal (and forced) members of her meager herd to follow her guidance, Nyimara cannot help but to seek out the commons in search of more bodies. The desert would need a strong herd if she was to face whatever Solomon and Xiomara threw in her direction.
The large island is not much warmer than Tinuvel currently, but it does not support the same patches of ice and snow so for that Nyimara is glad. It is no Salem but it will do. She pauses on the beach long enough to shake the worst of the ocean water from her mane and tail before the still-slender mare is once more on the move. Near-black eyes scan the serene landscape for potential members but so far nothing catches her eye.
Until it does. They do.
The stark contract of black and white. The tenderness in the mother’s eyes as she gazes down adoringly at her young daughter. THEY would be perfect.
A coquettish smile curves across her ashen lips as Nyimara nickers her greeting and steps briskly in their direction. Dark ears perked amid the water-logged curls of her alabaster crown. ”My dears… you look… lost? Maybe I can help with that.” she purrs, blinking innocently up at the mare expectantly.