Salt water clung to her coat as the mahogany woman pulled herself from the foaming shallows that lined the island of Atlantis. Silver white forelock lay plastered against the sides of her neck as gracefully she prances onto the sandy white beach. It was good to be home. Though she had made a point of exploring (and leaving her mark) on each of the islands, somehow none of the others seemed to quite compare to the jungle.

Dark lashes blink away the droplets of water as she turns her gaze to the north. The Ridge. Despite the thickness of the foliage and the distance that separated them, still Nyimara can see the white capped waves as they crashed over the porous rocks that lined the island edge. Still she can picture herself racing with wild abandon down the shoreline, with laughter in her lungs and adoration in the eyes of Bjorn as his muscular shoulder brushed against hers. She can almost feel it in the warmth of the sun that heats her body. It had been some of the most enjoyable moments of her life; that is, until Siobhan ruined them. Thinking of the red woman now, Nyimara can feel her blood begin to boil. She had ruined everything. It was Siobhan that turned Bjorn from her and created the simpering nomad that he had become. It was because of Siobhan that again and again Bjorn abandoned her and the empire she worked so meticulously to help him create. Siobhan…Nyimara would have her revenge. Reveng on them all.

Shaking the excess of water from her coat, the mahogany woman stalks towards the jungle. Rougaru was her fallback. A father never turned his back on a daughter right? Not to mention the fact that the old wolf seemed to have created his own reputation…. And quite a formidable herd himself. She planned on using that to her advantage this time around. It was not until she entered the jungle that Nyimara began to realize something was wrong.

Not wrong perhaps, but definitely amiss. The once thick scent of Rougaru seemed to have faded, replaced with one new and unfamiliar. No longer does the loud sounds of a large herd overpower the squawking parrots. For the first time since she had ever come to the islands, Paradise is silent.

Paper-thin nostrils flare as again she inhales the strong scents of damp earth and sweet flowers, sifting through the earthen odors for what must surely be there. Gone. All of it… gone. Once more anger wells up inside of her as her chocolate neck arches, pressing her teacup muzzle into the concave of her breast. How dare he! Just when she had made up her mind to come home… just when she decided that she was done running and letting those who opposed her live happy contented lives. The damned old wolf was gone.

Lost is the light prance to her step, instead replaced with determination as she delves down one of the many worn pathways through the trees. Paradise had become a mystery she was determined to solve.

Dark eyes pierce the shadow dappled earth as she wanders through the foxtail ferns and brush palms. She was not oblivious to the scent of stallion here; his testosterone soaked musk clung as heavily to the rough water oak bark as the tufts of gray hair that she discovered here and there along the trail. Paradise was not without its residents apparently. Ducking beneath the spanish moss and woody hibiscus vines, Nyimara steps into a small glen of deep green grasses. Paradise may be jungle but it was not without its hidden oasis’.

Impatience draws her ears backwards amid the tangled web of her pale mane. Long dark neck arches as the drappa tosses her head to let a high pitched scream escape her lips. No more of this meandering in search of answers, it was time to bring the answers to her.