If anyone had asked what her ideal home would be, Nyimara felt certain that the frozen tundra of Tinuvel was far from her idea of perfect. The cold chill of autumn was beginning to give way to the fierce winter winds. Already large chunks of ice were beginning to shore up along the edges of the bay promising that before too much longer even the waters of the bay would be covered in a layer of ice. Ears fall backwards amid the silver white curls of her mane. No, this was not her idea of a perfect home, but it was Bjorn's. It was these lands that had once belonged to his father, it was these lands that were whispered in the very lilt of his voice and the frozen ice of his gaze. Bjorn called these lands home and frozen as they might be, for the love of him so must she.

So she comes upon the shore now, thick droplets of ocean water dripping from her dark skin. Paper thin nostrils quiver, exhaling a sharp breath. Like smoke from the nostrils of a dragon the heated breath rises around her, framing her delicately shaped facade. Dark eyes scan over the dense woodlands that surround the pebbled shore. It was not not the same dense jungle that she had grown to enjoy in Atlantis, but it too held its own mysteries that even she saw in the shadows beneath the pines. The air was pungent here, crisp and fresh like the layer of newfallen snow that blanketed the ground. Perhaps it would not be so bad as it first seemed when Bjorn told her of this place. The mysteries of the jungle had all but been discovered anyway, a new change of scenery might just be what she needed. It was what Bjorn had needed. He truly was the king of the north now.