Nyimara moves with the hatred that burned through her veins. Hatred for Bjorn, his abandonment not once but three times which resulted in not just the loss of the Ridge where she had finally fought her way to lead (even if it meant having to share the glory with Sio). It was his loss of the Inlet that had been the hardest pill to swallow. Reverence and determination had not healed whatever wounds the damned red woman stabbed into his soul, he left her there, pregnant and ready to foal, abandoned her with no protection to fend off the wolves that howled at their borders. Warsaw had come, as he promised he would, (no doubt at the bidding of Ysabel and Siobhan) and she was left to flee to the east where Aranck welcomed her. Well, welcomed was perhaps a dream, more like refused to let her leave. However he saw her potential where Bjorn balked from it. Though there was no love between them, Aranck made her his queen, let her reign rule over the Arch in all its ferocious glory. They were small, but the fear in which the rumors and hushed whispers spread was great. Until he too abandoned her. Solomon beat Aranck (though he had not put up much of a fight) and was quick to usher her off to the Lagoon. His ears had been poisoned long ago by the words of Ysabel and it ate at her. Though she herself cared little what the stallion thought of her, it was the simple manner in which he quickly whisked her away and out of his hair that stirred the slumbering beast to life once more. He would pay. Aranck would pay. If ever she saw him again, Bjorn would pay for the heart he stole from her breast and left frozen on the Tinuvel tundra. They would all pay in blood and broken promises.

Warduna curled close to her side, the warmth of her small body a reminder that for now she must bide her time. Cullen would come for her, of that she held no doubt. There was little love between the two, and hate enough to fuel the fires that burned at the very mention of the name. At least her stay here would not be without its entertainment. She was ready. Every muscle, every fiber of her being tensed in anticipation.

However the face that appears through the brush is not one that she ever expected to see again. The foreign word that leaves her lips as she closes the distance that separates them brings her small ears forward for the first time since crossing into the murky lagoon that the bachelor herd called its home. Dark auburn eyes follow the seal brown mare as she moves nearer. The words that rumbled from her lungs bring a sinister scowl to Nyimara’s otherwise elegantly dished face. Once more ears bury beneath the thick curling mantle of silver-white mane as she lifts her head to meet the mahogany woman’s eyes. ”Aranck was weak. He let his plasticity expose himself to others and I was traded away at his defeat.” the words, regardless of their truth are spat like poison on her tongue.

She had come. Though she knew little of the mare, not even her name, the seal brown creature that she found such pleasure in fighting a young buckling in the commons had come for her. Like Bjorn had once done, the mare moved to place alongside her, companionship clear in the words she spoke as she placed herself protectively at Nyimara’s side. What hopes her captor’s thought in finally breaking her spirit and bridling the flames that licked the beast to life are gone. Like a long lost lover the mare brushes against her, whispered words murmurs into the small space that separates them. ”Nyimara…” she growls, arching her own neck to press her lips against the woman. Lips part to let ivory teeth rake over the exposed flesh of her neck and shoulder possessively. ”What is your name… fierce heart?” she breathes, her words hot against the dark mare’s skin. How sensual and pleasurable it felt, pressed against another creature that shared her hatred and did not baulk at the venom that pulsed through her veins. The blackness of her heart thundered within her breast as she withdrew to drop her gaze to the small filly that stood staring up between them. Affection gleamed in her eyes as Warduna stared. There is no fear in the filly’s eyes, only curiosity as she too stretched her small head up towards the strange mare’s muscular shoulder, inhaling a deep breath of the woman’s scent that greeted her. ”She is Warduna… and we…” she continued, once more lifting her gaze to stare into the eyes that mirrored her own, ”we will burn them all to ash.” A smile curves her lips upward once more, and bathe in the blood that soaks the ground.” All of them. Bjorn. Aranck. Solomon. Ysabel. Siobhan. Allil. Cullen and his men… all of them would cower in fear of the monster they had created. Nyimara would not be defeated.