Siobhan hardly noticed the cold. Her heart was frozen in time, locked in the memory of Roisin's furious, tear-stained face and the fear and sadness in Ailill's eyes as Akadi pressed close to him for comfort. She had controlled her emotions then, desperate to prevent further trauma to her grief-stricken family. She would not let them see her bow to the wench that had broken her family yet again. Even Nyimara's poking and prodding had found little additional purchase on the trip here, largely because Siobhan would gladly hurt her own self to prevent giving the silver-haired witch any further satisfaction.

Her pale hooves stumbled as she made landfall on Tinuvel, and her head dropped to the shores of the Inlet for the first time. Cold ripped through the thin skin and short fur that had grown in preparation for the mild winter of Atlantis and she shivered involuntarily. Siobhan refused to look at Nyimara, to give her the satisfaction of seeing the pain in her eyes, and turned instead to the sprawling beaches of her prison. Somewhere in this godforsaken territory lurked Bjorn.

The thought of him still made her eyes shutter tightly against the pain of losing him, but it mingled now with fury. Her anger at their last meeting that he would have abandoned her to fight for the Inlet instead of their home, and then added insult to this injury by taking Nyimara first had developed into a full-blown fury at this latest development. Siobhan was certain that he had to have known of his queen's intentions, and by knowing, condoned them.

Nyimara's intentions were... simple at best as far as Siobhan could tell. Petty revenge for someone daring to step into her spotlight. A mare that had been too often given more affection and praise than she warranted, and too little censure for her bully tactics. She was no leader. She was a power-hungry bitch in a temper tantrum, and there was nothing that could convince Siobhan otherwise. How else did you explain why a mare would separate a mother from her daughters? Why she would demand that the thin-coated Siobhan move islands to Tinuvel in the dead of winter? Why she would continue to dig deep at the wounds that she knew existed between herself and Bjorn?

Nyimara had already won.

And in truth, Siobhan didn't have the heart to keep fighting her. It was evident to her, as she stood shivering so hard her teeth lacked together in the combination of emotional shock and the cold, that Bjorn no longer cared for her. The transformation from loving father to cruel king was clearly complete and she had no desire to insert herself further into this life. Even as she had tried to distance herself from it, her relationship with Bjorn was coming back to plague her.

She turns to Nyimara then, ears tucked back and a neutral mask in place. Her words are as calm as she can make them, but the effect is lost somewhat as she shivers away. "Well, I'm here, Nyimara. Congratulations, you have sunk to new levels of depravity I didn't even think were possible, even from you."

Siobhan has no doubt that Nyimara's intentions are dark. The risks she was forcing Siobhan to endure were astronomical, and there was nothing good that could come of any of this. Her daughters hated her for not bringing them, but Siobhan could not risk them here. Not in this cold. Not under Nyimara. Not with Bjorn. They were safer in the Ridge, even if it meant that they hated her. Even if it meant what little was left of her heart threatened to freeze beneath a new layer of permafrost.

Resentment pools in her next words, her eyes flashing to convey the anger that boiled within. "What new torture do you have in mind? Maybe if I stand here long enough you'll have a new ice statue to greet your guests. That way they'll know how cold your hearts truly are."