Nyimara was growing accustomed to the harsh cold that bit through the thin mahogany color of her flesh. The swell of her belly and the warmth she shared with her unborn child helped to keep her warm and the presence of Siobhan filled whatever gap remained. In the coldest of storms, Nyimara found herself grateful for the small herd and despite the tension that hovered around them.

While her reign in the Ridge had been short lived, Nyimara was determined to make her presence known and remembered upon the shores of Tinuvel. Vigilantly she found herself rising with the dawn, shaking the dusting of snow from her back, and began her patrol of the borders. Bjorn had not needed to tell her that their prence here was not a welcome one. The brief meeting with Tavas had given her an inclination into the determination of the aged gray warlord and his underlings. She herself had seen the large number that grazed in crowded groups beyond the borders of the Cove. No doubt retribution would come were she and Bjorn not careful. Thinking back, perhaps her challenge against Alill for Siobhan had not been the wisest decision. However, the hatred that burned in her heart like a festering wound was too great. She would not let the red mare disappear into the sunset with her golden knight while Nyimara was left to pick up the pieces of Bjorn's tattered heart and attempt to piece them together for herself. She had had his first and by the gods she would see Sio suffer.

However all thoughts of distant hurdled and the red mare disappear as the fresh scent and unmistakable sounds of hooves upon fresh fallen snow catch her ears. Immediately her small chisled head lifts from where it rested low above the frozen earth and small cupped ears perk amid the tangle of silver white mane. Ash dusted nostrils flare as slowly she makes her way through the dense snowdrifts and onto the pebbled shore. Where once she might have flown over the snow capped hills, now she moved with slow calculated movements, her pendulum belly swinging heavily to and fro. She could feel it, the weight of the foal laying heavily upon her barrel, and the viciousness of its kicks told her that soon the child would make its appearance. She hoped for another son, but as lovely as Raksha was, she would be content with another daughter. A princess born of ice and snow. The thought made her lips curl upwards in the form of a smile.

The pale mare is not hard to spot. She stands out like a beacon against the dark pebbles and thick evergreens. Dark eyes follow her for a moment, noting the slight shiver that courses over her gold and white skin at the stiff breeze. A friendly nicker peels from her lips as Nyimara carefully picks her way down the hillside, and onto the the shores alongside the mare still damp from the swim. Pale lashes blink over dark eyes as she plants the mask of warmth firmly into place, her thick banner flicking gently against rounded belly. "Welcome stranger. My name is Nyimara, Queen of the Inlet." the last syllables linger with the slightest emphansis despite her best attempt to force a sense of normality into them. Slender neck arches as she extends her muzzle politely, nostrils flaring the in age old greeting between strangers. Faintly, the scent of Bjorn lingers on the golden girl's skin, the scent familiar and aching in the longing she felt to twine her body against his. "You must be a friend of Bjorn's." she purrs her words trailing as her gaze scans the shores behind them in hopes of catching sight of the dark blue gray bear king following in the golden girl's wake. However the water's are silent, only the gentle slush of waves lap upon the shore. No signs of the bear king.

A heavy sigh breaks past her nostrils as once more her gaze turns upon the golden haired maiden. "Come, I can see your teeth chattering from here... Let us commune beneath the trees. The branches will shelter us from the wind and you will dry much quicker." she finishes, taking a step towards the edge of the woods, a single ear flicking back in encouragement.