Nyimara was done. She was done with stallions throwing their weight around and holding their heads up high like they owned the world. She was done with their higher than thou attitude and the dismissal she received from the world. First Bjorn turns her away and now this? To hell with the fates and their choices. It was time for her to make her own way in this world without them and their reverence. Let Siobhan and the rest of the pitiful creatures on this island look to them for wisdom and advice. It was time for her to start looking after those who deserved her.

Bjorn’s dismissal is still an open wound. She had hoped that whenever he eventually returned to the islands that he would once more be the powerful bear king she had seen in her mind. He had given her a taste, small as it may have been, on the main island, when he came for her and his infant daughter with the promise of a cold kingdom on Tinuvel. Like a foolish filly she believed his stories and his dreams, let them envelop and surround her until her dreams of soft summer nights was replaced by the ice of winter. She had lived for Bjorn, fought to become his equal and his mate and yet at the first signs of affection from another he cast her aside as though she were nothing more than discarded waste. Not one but three strong children she provided him, children that would rule the world. But that was not enough for him. She was not enough for him.

The anger and hatred boiled like venom through her veins, pulsing with the fire of venom. Blackness seeped into her soul, darkening her eyes to black and soaking into every fiber of her being. She could feel herself losing control, feel the beast straining against its chains with slathering jowls and sharpened fangs raking down the confines of her ribs. It wanted the freedom to take vengeance upon the world, it wanted to paint a picture in blood on the islands and let the sands soak up the remains of her enemies. It wanted to be free but Nyimara was afraid.

Bjorn woke that light in her whether she wanted to admit it or not. She saw the look of fear in Raksha’s pale eyes and it hurt worse than the look of disgust from the stallion she had once loved more than life itself. To have her own daughter fear her? Fear the hatred and anger that boiled beneath her skin? It was hard to swallow, even if Raksha was the most tenderhearted child she had ever met. She needed her anchor. Nyimara needed Shenzi.

With determination in her eyes she left from the Savanna with nothing more than a nod to Callahan and a warning to Warduna and Nycol to stay close to the herd. She was no fool, she knew that the rambunctious colt wanted to explore and play in his new home but Nyimara did not trust him solely to Warduna’s hands alone. Keep away from the crumbling shoreline she told him, stay with the herd she reiterated but deep down, she and the beast both knew the warning had fallen on deaf ears. Like her, he was stubborn and hardheaded. He would do as he wanted because he saw no danger anywhere. Nyimara can only hope that her trip to the Lagoon would be short and quick enough so that when they did return to Luthien, it would not be burned to the ground.

The thought made her smile despite the grim task that lay before her. The lagoon men were jealous creatures and would no doubt be on the lookout for her or any other stranger on their doorsteps. They were quite the jaded bunch but perhaps with good reason, considering what she planned to do to them. A malicious smile curves across her lips as she wades through the calm, stagnant waters of green and blue and pulls herself from the muck and mire of mud. Dark eyes scan the dense underbrush of palmetto palms and overhanging Spanish moss that clung to great cypress trees like lace curtains. Were it not for the stench of men, she might fight this place alluring and even beautiful. Like herself, men had a way of tainting everything they touched. The thought brought a sneer to her lips.

’Azizi!!!’

Small fluted ears perk forward amid the silver white tangle of her waterlogged mane. That voice. She knew that voice. So long she craved that voice and to feel the fetid breath against her skin and the warmth of that dark brown body as it pressed against hers with such strength and ferocity. Beneath the confines of her breast, her heart pounds. ”Shenzi.” she whispers, the name a fervent prayer on her lips.

Without hesitation she puts herself into motion, navigating over the sawgrass and broken branches scattered from the last storm to wreak havoc over the islands. Dark eyes scan the shadows as the crushed underbrush resounds in her ears. The call that greets her is fierce and as she ducks beneath the low hanging veil of moss, she comes face to face with the wild eyed dark mare. Small ears bury beneath the thick layer of her silver white mane as Nyimara charges towards her with head down and eyes darkened with determination. Sleek mahogany neck snakes forward to allow yellowing teeth to part, snapping at Shenzi’s shoulder. ”Lets go! NOW!” she barks, bumping her muzzle against the woman’s hip as she circled around her, ears rotating back and forth in search of any approaching stallion’s that might have heard Shenzi’s distress call. She comes around her flank, this time, shifting her weight to press against the dark mare’s hip to urge her forward. ”Come on. We will come back for him. I promise.” And it was a promise she intended to keep. However, for now, now Nyimara needed Shenzi more than she needed anything else in life. She needed the keeper of her flame and the whisperer of her soul. All else was trivial.