Nyimara was a spiteful creature. A fact that had been long hidden from her until the day that Bjorn had brought Siobhan home. The days before Siobhan had been met with adoration in his eyes, hunger and pleasure coupled with lust. Bjorn had allowed her to run rampant, to flit from one end of the Ridge to the other unbridled by restraints. She had taken pleasure in beating down Ysabel, and in leaving Tigerlily beaten on the shores of Luthien for the vultures and nomads to take her as they would. She wanted Bjorn to herself and despite her calculated movements, that was becoming increasingly difficult.

He had been her first. Her adoration and her soul. She had reveled in the feel of power and and submission she felt when first he had taken her beneath him. She felt the power that burned through his strong legs as he held her beneath him, the fierce nature of the bear as his teeth had closed around the supple flesh of her withers and the fullness in which her body conformed around his. She had seen him in the throws of battle, seen the power that rippled beneath the smokey blue gray hues of his skin and it only drove her hunger to deeper levels. She wanted him completely.

With Tigerlily out of the way, Nyimara felt certain that his devotion to her would be complete. Knowing that Siobhan remained in the Ridge tight in her golden lover’s embrace would have been enough, were it not for the spotted mare’s scent on his skin. She just could not stay away.

Hatred bloomed within her breast. Siobhan would not have him. She would not let him fall away into the depravity that was the lost history. He would be the great bear king, even if she had to make herself an enemy to them all.

Siobhan shivers against her skin, her own ears pressed forward amid the water-logged tangle of her silver white mane. Ash dusted labrums peel back from lips as blunt teeth snap irritably at the red woman’s shoulder in retribution. ”Do not mistake your presence here as a need, Siobhan. You are here for my benefit. Not your own.” she growls, unusually long whipcord lashing angrily against her sides. Dark eyes flash angrily as she lifts her teacup muzzle higher, ”I never got the chance last time… now… now I will show him.” she murmurs giving her mahogany colored skin a shake, ridding the light dusting of snow from her pelt as she stalks further beneath the overhanging boughs of the pungent cedars.

Siobhan turns to her now, the first semblances of anger rising in the flash of her eyes as she asks why. The question is so simple and yet despite herself the sorrow chokes a hold upon her own heart. ”Because…” she murmurs. Siobhan thought Bjorn had chosen her, she thought he searched the wilds for her and defeated the once proud gray stallion to retain the home of his ancestors once more but it was not in her own name. She was a mere happenstance. He had come upon her where she roamed in the commons with nothing more than surprise delight. She was not so memorable in his eyes. A mere trinket lost and retrieved once again. It was Siobhan that he had left the shores of his father in search of. It was Siobhan that twisted her fingers around his stone heart and forced Nyimara from her place. Siobhan was his downfall and her own too. ”This was never mine.” she spits, the venom and hatred no longer honey coated upon her tongue. Dark eyes flash in the gray shadows as she twists her lips upward into a snarl. ”This is for him… I brought you here for him… and for me. You will not have my happy ending. You will not have them both.” she growls.

The snapping of dry twigs beneath hooves draws her dark gaze away from the spotted mare and once more she finds her gaze upon the alluring image of her son. What venom and hatred shown so brightly only moments ago in those dark eyes are replaced by something brighter and more akin to pleasure. A gentle nicker clearing her throat as a warm smile plays upon her velvet lips. Confusion lightens his pale eyes, his gaze traveling between the two as the realization slowly begins to sink in. The adoration that he had always felt for Siobhan is like a dagger of ice to her soul now as he questions where the spotted mare’s child and lover were. Of course he was still too young to understand what had transpired between Siobhan and Alill was much more than mere friendship, but it was enough that the mention hurt her soul. At least she had Raksha. Raksha held no care or concern for the once queen and her golden lover. Vaguely did she even recognize her own sire more than the mere sight or smell of him. He and Sigurdr had disappeared not long after her birth and since then Raksha found it hard to open up to them with the same vigor as mother herself. ”Whatever do you mean Sigurdr?” she muses, her tentative tones sweet as she stretches her arched serpentine towards the colt’s painted shoulder to lip affectionately at a straying strand of his obsidian mane. ”I thought you might enjoy a reunion of sorts. Siobhan so graciously agreed to stay for awhile and visit.” she murmurs blinking absently, the mask of curious innocence upon her angelic features.