Leaders: Nyimara, Asmodeus, Quinn
Stallions: None
Mares: Kara, Kohelet, Rhaynira, Syrax
Foals: Cahyr
He would not have been her son if the reaction to her approach had been anything les than suspicion and anger. There was too much history, too much strife between herself and Bjorn that had managed to bleed into the offspring they had produced. Too often it had been the damned red woman who had coaxed Sigurdr beneath her wing and too easily Bjorn had stood aside and allowed it. Despite the fierceness with which she had fought against Cullen for his return, despite the anger and jealousy that had flared in her eyes each time the young boy had bound after the red mare, Nyimara had forced herself to stand by and watch as her children made their decisions. Each one, parted from her in one way or another until only the two youngest remained firmly within her grip. Rhaynira was ambitious and eager to take up her mother’s sword and shield and Cahyr… a future to be reckoned with if she and Asmodeus had anything to say in the matter.
However Nyimara cannot help but to stare down at the gift sent by the gods, tied neatly into tangled wet knots of ocean salt and seaweed dredged up from the storm. Even as the boy rose to his hooves with a sneer on his lips and ears bent backward in disdain, Nyimara could not hide the glimmer of hope. Just as Skogsra had washed ashore, defeated and broken to be reforged again by her harsh tone, so too would her own silver sword rise to meet his. No child of her bloodline would fall in defeat.Her question is returned with a single-syllable answer. Not that she truly expected much else. Bjorn had well and truly taken Sigurdr beneath his wing and his heir and prodigy from the moment his first breath broke on the Ridge those many years ago. Of all her children, it was Sigurdr that she had never truly been allowed to build a foundation with between her strife with Ysabel and her desire to maintain her grasp on Bjorn’s straying heart. Dark brows narrow, near-black eyes glittering in the growing pink and orange hues of the coming dawn as she meets the icy blue eyes of her firstborn with equal determination. Did he honestly think that hard glare would break her? Where did he imagine such genetics came from? Surely not his on again - off again father.’....I see you are well and continued your life…’ The words were edged with disdain and a fierceness that drew a smile to her lips. Chocolate-colored ears pitch forward again now as the amusement builds within her breast into a throaty purr before dissipating altogether. ”Was a meant to waste away into nothing the first or the second time your father took you from me?” The tone of her voice remains level as her pale lashes blink slowly over those fierce, obsidian ooids as they gazed with measured curiosity into the mirrors of her son’s gaze. ”As much as discovering my rotting, wilted, broken carcass might have appealed to you… I was not so ready to give up on life.” she murmured with a firmness that left little to doubt. She might never speak of the ghosts that haunted her on Tinuvel, or how often she found herself chasing after the fleeting images of his, Bjorn, Raksha, and Skogsra’s shapes through the conifer forests. He would never know of the screams that had broken her heart and soul as she watched the waves eat away their retreating hoofprints in the sand or the moments when her own heart had shattered at all she had lost. So many things she hid and hid well beneath the many cracked and molded layers of stone and ice that had once housed her heart. Bjorn had taught her long ago that she could only rely on herself for the life he promised her all those years ago. No stallion would ever give her anything. She earned it and more.He shifts uncomfortably, his movements drawing her away from the thoughts and images, and feelings she had long since banished. Dark eyes blink rapidly to steel away the swells of …. Longing? Regret? Heartache? Sorrow? That threatened to resurface now. ’..it seems the gods have a funny sense of humor…’ The grumble in his tone reminds her of the forlorn child he had been years ago when she refused to allow him to follow Bjorn and herself to the war that had ultimately led to his captivity He had much the same look that day with bottom lip jutting forward and barely concealed irritation gleaming behind those easily readable blue eyes. He may no longer have the softness to his face as he had as a child but it still brought the same amusement to her lips as this time the laughter is much softer and amenable as it hangs between them. ”I guess to you it might seem that way.” she purrs, her long silver-white tail twitching lightly against her heels. ”I prefer to see it as an opportunity…” she continues tilting her finely dished head towards him with a cocky smirk. ”A chance to reconnect ourselves and try to untangle the knotted tangles that bind us together through blood.” she finishes, inclining her head towards the dunes where the Desert lay beyond the ocean’s reach. ”At the very least and opportunity for you to meet your younger siblings anyway. Come on, a nice roll in the dry sand will do WONDERS for those aches and itches you must be feeling about now.” she draws, taking a step forward towards the Dunes but keeping her gaze on him, leaving no room to question. This was not a suggestion. A single brow raises as she waits for the venom and anger and furious words which would no doubt follow but even beneath the layers of needle sharp points that surround him like the porcupines on Tinuvel, she knows that her son is there and this “opportunity” would not present itself again...