Nyimara did not miss the moment when Ysabel charged into the surf with a resounding trill. Neither does she miss the moment when the spotted mare Siobhan to follows suit. For a moment anger flares through her mind, her dark ooids narrowed in displeasure. Despite the defeat still it seemed that Ysabel's hold upon the title queen of the ridge was strong. Despite her proclamation others followed the pale mare.

Were it for any other Nyi might have found herself addressing the issue with Ysabel. Perhaps at a later time she might... but now, now SIghurdr needed her and since finally the others were on the move, Nyimara too charges into the surf with a toss of her finely dished head. Despite the strain of battle and the turmoils that tore her soul apart, Nyimara moved with strong fluid paces, her lithe limbs propelling her through the waters at a swift gait. Paper thin nostrils quiver as the main island comes into view. The odor of swampy lagoon hang heavily in her nostrils as her hooves find purchase upon the mirey soil. Ears lace tight against her skull as for a moment the fierce huntress lingers in the shallows, keen ooids taking in the scent that unfolds before her.

There.

For the first time in what seemed an eturnity she makes out the form of her beloved Sigurdr standing aside Isabel amid the turmoil of fighting horses. It seems that more than just the two foals from the Ridge were attempting an escape and between the fighting stallions and the drenched forms of the Ridge mares that charged forward to join into the fray she knew that they had the advantage. Small ears twist as the pale form of Ysabel appears, nudging the foals away from the angry forms of fighting horses and back towards the surf. 'Sigurdr' she murmurs the name a blessing upon her tongue. She takes a step towards them, desperate to feel the touch of her son once more.

And then he appears.

From the fray the large golden stallion surges towards the fleeing form of Ysabel and the foals. Cullen. Rage boils beneath her chocolate skin as the lithe mare lunges forward through the shallow waters, her teeth clacking. She knows it is hopeless, to think that she alone could take on and defeat Cullen but in this moment she does not care. She wants his blood to wet her tongue. She needs to remind him that she is the daughter of the wolf and that more than a pound of flesh would be paid in return.

The pause in the shallows had done much to restore the energy the swim to the lagoon had robbed from her muscles. Ears lace tightly against her skull as with a defiant scream the silver haired woman charges the large stallion, shifting the weight of her body to force the point of her shoulder into his side in hopes of throwing him off the trail of the retreating mares and foals. "Get them back to the Ridge Ysabel!!" she bugles. Despite the bad blood that continued to hold them at a distance, despite the blame she placed upon the pale mare, she trusted her to guide them away from the warring horses and back to the safety of the Ridge.

For a single fleeting moment, she draws her gaze away from Cullen, her dark eyes mournful as they gazed upon the retreating forms. To be so close and yet so far away from his touch. However that was what being a mother was about... what being a leader was about; doing what was in the best interest of the herd. She could not save them on her own... but at least she could provide a distraction to Ysabel to give them a decent start at freedom.

Water logged tendrils are given a shake as once more her dark gaze fixated upon the golden stallion. Ash dusted labrums peel back to reveal blunt ivories. Unusually long silver-white tail flicks back and forth with dangerous slowness as she shifts one slow step after another to place her lithe figure between the lagoon boss and the retreating figures. "I will make you remember MY name Cullen of the Lagoon." she grows, lunging towards him with dark chocolate neck snaking towards his thickly muscled neck. "I am Nyimara. Daughter of Rougaru and mother to Sigurdr. I am Queen of the Ridge and it is my teeth that will rip your flesh and remind you what it is to face the wolf." she snarls, jawls parting as she snaps at his face, hoping to taste the metallic tang of his blood upon her tongue. It was a hopeless task, facing the seasoned warrior on her own, but Nyimara was willing to face death if it meant the foals freedom... if it meant proving herself to Bjorn. She was more than the wild hearted daughter of the wolf. She would show them all.