Desert

Nyimara did not miss the glare of hate or the beginnings of a snarl that tugged at the corners of his whiskered lips. Pleasure gleams in her own dark eyes and for a moment she struggles to keep the mask of indifference planted firmly into place. Brows furrow as the battered stallion looks her up and down. Unlike other stallions that she crossed paths with on these islands, there is no appreciation in his eyes for the beauty of her face or the angelic arch of her throat. Grant it, her body is currently heavily swollen with foal, but still. Long, silver white tail snaps audibly once again against her hip. He would pay for that.

How he would pay was still up for debate and her twisted mind worked in overtime debating what actions she might be able to take in her current state. However before she can delve too deeply into this thought pattern, the stallion releases a graveled chuckle, his eyes rolling in disdain. Small fluted ears tilt backwards, disappearing beneath the thick curling tresses of her silver white mane as the mare narrows her eyes on him further. A sneer of her own slides across her lips now as she lifts her crown a bit higher in response to his words.”Ever think that maybe it is Salem and its horses that have no use for a used up bag of bones like you?” she quips, giving her head a toss to rid her vision of the pale tendrils of her forelock.

He says he means no offense, but she does not miss the lack of emotion nor would she have ever cared. As if to reiterate that belief, she snorts, huffing a hot breath into the dry arid air that swirled around them.

She might have been willing to let him merely sleep off his defeat on her beach, might even have ignored his presence for a few days as he recuperated enough to make the swim back to whatever god forsaken spit of land he came from. However, that last comment…. ’ you pregnant mares…’ As if he knew her! As if she could be simply lumped into the same category as any other mare! Grant it she may be the same when it came to taking stallions upon her back for the need of procreation, however that was where all the similarities with herself and other mares ended. She was a queen of Salem and a fierce warrior. She braved the loss of land and lover and child and not once did her sanity wane. She was Nyimara, daughter of the wolf and fierce in her own rights, a fact proven over and over again in the way her name haunted the minds in hushed reverence. This stallion, whoever he was, looked at her as though she were any other mare crossing his path and well, that did not sit very well in her mind.

A flash of anger dances in her eyes as she stares down her muzzle at the stallion. Drawing her swollen feet beneath her, Nyimara charges forward with a trust of her legs, angling her frame between that of the stallion and her beach. Paper thin nostrils flare as she gives her dark head another toss, sending alabaster tresses cascading in wild disarray down the sides of her arching neck. ”I don’t think you sound sincere enough…” she begins, a wicked grin playing across her ash dusted lips. ”Nor do I remember giving you permission to camp out on my beach.” she says, pausing a moment to let her words linger between them like the threat she intended them to be.

With a huff she stomps her front hoof against the pale rust colored sands. ”Normally I would chase you off my land for such thinking but I find myself feeling quite generous today. Perhaps some time spent as a captive of my herd might change your thinking when it comes to trespassing and thinking me nothing more than a mere mare.” she finishes, flashing her yellowing teeth with a snarled clack.