The rush of the wind over her skin is intoxicating. The dry air of Salem, a stark contrast to the humid weather she left behind on the Ruins. Paper-thin nostrils flare to inhale a deep breath and exhale it in slow succession. Like the Desert before it, the Dunes appear void of life. Whatever herd that had once called this hostile place home has long since disappeared. The sands of Salem reclaim the hoofprints and leave no sign in its wake. Salem. Regardless of where she found herself on this desolate island, it always managed to feel more like home than anywhere else her travels have brought her. Salem, her refuge in the storm of her emotions.

Searching eyes cast a watchful gaze over the lands that she claimed as her own. Aside from the occasional stray cloud, the sands seemed unmoved and untouched by anything save the invisible fingers of the zephyrs. A ghostly smile, sly and cunning, tugs the corners of her lips upwards. Yes, this would do perfectly.

"Uhtred, try not to stray too far just yet." she purrs, idling flicking her long tail against the young boy's hip. Though only a strapping colt of two years, already he stood taller than herself. The gangly length of his legs told her that he still had more growing to do. No doubt he was taking more and more after his father than she cared to admit. His response is a gruff snort. Silently she watches as the boy meanders down the hillside, his thick hooves digging deep prints into the sand. For a moment longer she watches him, admiring the strong curve of his back and the ripple of muscles beneath his silver grullo coat. He was a handsome boy, even if his father was a worthless bastard.

She turns away from his retreating frame now, inspecting the secrets that the dunes had to offer. An oasis to the east, the tips of its green leafed palm trees just visible over the next rise of sand. Shelter was not nearly as abundant as it had been in the desert but still, between the rolling sea of sands, Nyimara knows there is safety to be found for those who seek it.

With prancing steps, she navigates herself towards the oasis. Rich yellow-tipped grasses grow between the thick stalks of palm and rough bark of date trees. Rich, sweet water bubbles cool and crisp from some underground reservoir. Tentatively she lowers her muzzle to the water's surface and takes the first deep drink. This place would do nicely. Now, like this pool of fresh water, she must find a way to fill it. The islands have not seen her defeated yet.