He did not see it. He no longer saw... her.

She watches him move before her, watches the proud arch of his muscular neck and the lash of his dark tail against taunt smokey blue skin. Like a dragon in the mountains, his snort sends a plume of vapor into the air, hanging above his broad head like a king's crown before vanishing into the gentle zephyrs. In the glacier cold of his eyes she sees the feral creature the hunger with which it sought vengeance and restoration. It cared nothing of the bond between them or the shattered remains that his hard words spoke. There is power... untouched power. A power that even the causes the beast within her to give pause and gaze upon with wary reluctance. It knew she tread upon shallow ground and yet she could not stop herself. She could not stop the words or the myriad of emotions that rose her defiant head shaking back and forth. He thinks she had forgotten her place. Perhaps she had.

Memories arise, moments of a time when once he had danced the merry dance alongside her, racing carefree along the beaches of Atlantis. She cannot forget their dance through the woods that lined the meadows. She could never forget the longing in which he gazed upon her skin, the adoration that glittered in his pale eyes. She remembers the night that Sigurdr was concieved, the playful expression upon his lips as he chased her fleet as a deer up and down the rocky outcroppings of the ridge. She had bent to his touch, shivered in contentment as his body brushed over her own. He had claimed her in more ways than one on that night. He had become her everything.

Her own nostrils quiver as forelimbs shuffle beneath her dancing figure churning the soil beneath her. Her place?! She would show him her place.

Ivory teeth clench behind closed jaw as the darkling mare took a defiant step forward. "It is her word only that you base your decisions. HER words that cause you to break a promise to my father! Do you dare to call him that?" she growls, thick plumage snapping audibly. She knew her place. He had forgotten his all for the sake of one worthless mare.

But he is not done.

If it were possible to shatter her heart. His next words would have done that. Whites rim her widened eyes as he speaks, threatening her with violence in defense of the buckskin mare. Heat radiates from her body, rage filling the cracked lines that score the very essence of her existence. "You... you would defend her?" disbelief stutters her words as small elegant facade is given a hard shake, forcing away the images that his words drew upon her. He would defend her.

Sure she could tell him that she had only been defending father. She could tell him it was jealous that fueled the fires that burned through her soul. She could tell him that she needed him. She could tell him she needed to feel the same adoration, the same protective desires upon his own lips....

Ice.

There is no affection in his gaze now as he spreads the distance between their bodies. His glacier gaze is commanding and cold as he turns to gaze back at her, to tell her to look upon herself with blame and guilt. It is something she already does.

Guilt.

If she had not gone with father. If he had stayed behind or even taken Sigurdr with her. It would have been difficult yes but she would have protected him. She would have died to keep him safe. Hot tears stream down the chiseled curve of her russet cheeks. She snorts and steps back towards the sandy shores at a clipped pace, her injured shoulder biting despite the adrenaline rush that the conversation with Bjorn forced upon her. She dips her crown, shaking her head fiercely back and forth again, dissolving the remnants into the surf that surged invitingly around her fetlocks, urging her away.

How she wanted to run. She wanted to run away from the anger in his eyes, from the venom that burned through his words and the indifference that glared from his gaze. She wanted to run... but pride would not allow it.

Perhaps it was the creature to blame. Perhaps it was her own guilt or her own pride. Whatever the reason she is silent. For what felt like forever the silence wells like a barricade between them both. She can feel his hard eyes upon her lithe figure but she dare not lift her head for fear the veil of pale tresses would reveal the trails of damp skin upon her cheeks. She could not show weakness. A heavy sigh leaves her lungs now as she rises her gaze to meet his. Sorrow and anguish gleam behind the deep auburn of her gaze as small perks ears stand proudly atop her head. "I will show you who I am... I am Nyimara. Daughter of Rougaru and mother of Sigurdr. I will be queen of the Ridge and I WILL get MY son back!"

Shattered hearts be damned,