Falls

The trek to the Falls takes a lot longer than Nyimara remembered it ever taking. Patience has never been a strong factor in her life and yet even knowing this, Nyimara finds herself almost content to walk at a leisurely pace. Fluted ears swivel back and forth as she alternates between listening to her companion’s labored breathing and the sounds of the forest around them. Dried leaves rustle beneath their hooves as they pass beneath the deciduous trees of the forest. Great white oaks and paper birch trees stretch towards the sky, their skeletal branches shivering against each bristling breeze. Despite the sunlight that lit their path, cold air wrapped around them, promising of the hard winter snows that were not far behind. Soon, even the forests would be blanketed in snow and ice, a world that she knew all too well. Memories resurface, of the year she spent wandering the main island for anything and nothing in particular. When Bjorn and Sigurdr left Atlantis, when the black Teke mare claimed the Ridge, Nyimara stole Raksha away into the dark night and the main island became their home. Spring and summer came and went, even winter saw the pair alone here and there, hiding from the bachelor stallions and seeking refuge where they could. Nyimara remembered curling in the dense thickets near the Falls, with the fragile red body of Raksha nestled against her, shivering against the cold. It was the first time in her life that she found herself hating stallions, hating the idea that because of Bjorn alone, she was alone with a small child in this world. Of course she could always have stayed on Atlantis, or returned to her father’s herd in Paradise, but Nyimara also had her own faults and pride was among them.

She had been too proud to return to her father then, too proud to admit that Bjorn was not the stallion she first thought him to be. She was young and naive in the ways of the world when they met and in him, she saw everything. Too easily she allowed him to sway her judgement and too eagerly she met his return with tenderness only for him to betray her in the end. Siobhan, Ysabel, Tigerlily… the list of those he turned to above herself grew with each passing season and what love she once carried with such fierce loyalty turned to ash on her tongue. She let her pride carry her on and though she managed to forge her own path in this world, it was not without its downfalls. What downfalls does this stranger have? Dark eyes blink at the darkling mare leaning into her shoulder, watching the grind of her teeth and the clench of her jaws as together they limped onward. Did she have regrets? Had life tormented her as it had Nyimara?

The roar of the falls soon breaks through her thoughts and draws the mahogany woman from her memories. Pale lashes blink as together they turn the last curve in the path. For the first time since Raksha’s youth, Nyimara finds herself face to face with the majestic tumbling rocks and waters of the falls. She pauses here, taking a deep breath of the crisp air and savoring the sweet scent that the waters carry towards her. A single lobe tilts forward amid the tangle her her silver white mane as her companion starts forward now unassisted, legs wobbling and unsteady but the sight of the falls gives her strength. For a moment Nyimara remains where she is, watching as the dark woman splashes through the shallow pool and eases slowly into the cold mountain waters. There is something healing about the sight, a sense of refreshment that she herself feels when she watches the tension leave the dark form and what pain had once been begin to ebb away.

A soft sigh escapes her own lips as she closes the distance between the pooling waters and herself. She wades into the water herself, allowing the cool liquid to swirl around her hocks and the wet mud to squish beneath her hooves. Ashen muzzle hovers over the churning waters surface, sifting through the sweet scents for a few moments before daring to dip her lips to the water and drink deeply. The water was sweet on her tongue, reminding her how long it had been since the last time she had tasted anything more than the lukewarm waters that ran through Salem.

’What do you want from me?’ the words echo above the sound of falling water. Fluted ears perk as Nyimara lifts her head, droplets of water dripping from her muzzle and disappearing in dark rivulets at her feet. The face of the dark mares stares back at her, as if finding strength of mind to focus on her for the first time since their meeting. There is no emotion on that dark face, no tilt of her lips or strain of her brow. The dark eyes that meet hers show the only semblance of emotion and that alone is enough. The suspicion in her eyes is clear, and despite herself Nyimara finds the edges of her own ashen lips twitching in amusement. It was only natural of course and her reaction no doubt would be the same were she in the dark woman’s place.

For a moment, Nyimara remains silent, merely exchanging the suspicious glare with a mild acknowledgement of her own. Pale silver white tail flicks with idle slowness against her hips as finally, she speaks. ”You.”

The word is simple but filled with meaning. In truth, it was her that Nyimara sought. Not just as a body to add to the slow growing herd of fierce warriors she was attempting to create, but as a fellow creature who clearly had not been given the easiest road in life by the fates. Nyimara made it her goal in life to defy them, to turn ill luck into fortune and use her own strength and cunning to turn her enemies into shriveled weeds discarded by the path. She needed fighters and those who were willing to continue even when the world turned its back against them.

”That is….” she continues, giving her proud head a shake, silver white ends of her mane snapping audibly against the mahogany curve of her neck. ”If you aren’t willing to admit defeat just yet.” she murmurs, blinking back at the dark mare now, a single brow raised in curious expectation.