To say Nyimara was feeling good about herself would have been a massive understatement. She was downright giddy. Not over beating the young painted bachelor of course because lets face it, what he had in good looks was sorely lacking in fighting experience. No, she was proving to herself and to the rest of the islands that she had not been defeated. The white haired witch was here and she was here to stay. She was not some incompetitant girl who needed to rely on her father’s fearsome reputation. She did not need to use her silver tongue to convince some stallion that she deserved to be his queen. She did not need to color her words to amass a following of loyal soldiers, no. She was Nyimara. She fought her own battles.

The gray and white stallion she had won stays strangely quiet through the swim from the crossing isle. Though his displeasure is evident in the tight press of his ears against his head and the tension in his muscles, he does not violently strike out or attempt to escape as she had first imagined he might. Even her provoking nips are met with silence beyond the splash of water as it washes over their swimming forms. He appeared lost in his own thoughts. Maybe he was indeed hatching a plan to escape her? That would not happen. Confidently, she surges forward, her lithe frame cutting through the water like a knife through butter. The salt water stings the scraped skin that her opponent had left on her hip and the gash in her foreleg throbbed with each powerful stroke but Nyimara does not let it slow her. She did not dare show weakness in front of her captive.

As they emerge from the shallow waters to shake the excess water from their coats, the stallion chooses to address her. His gaze is carefully guarded as he turns to fix her with a steady glare. His snarky quip brings an amused smirk to her lips as she turns her damp form towards him. Proudly she lifts her finely chiseled head, dark eyes casting him an equally indifferent gaze. A haughty snort blasts hot air from her paper thin nostrils as she tilts her head towards him. ”Clearly you have not spent much time away from the Lagoon.” she replies, tossing her head to rid herself of the troublesome forelock that spiderwebbed across her vision field. It was no secret that Salem was the least desirable of islands. Most horses that ventured here either found it awakened their fighting spirit or sent them running for the closest exit. Nyimara herself found that despite the vicious heat during the peak summer and autumn months, Salem was quite a pleasurable relief from the intolerable cold of the other islands. The Dunes were not without their secrets and she found immense delight in the discovery of each hidden oasis that her exploring uncovered. ’I don’t recall submitting a request for a vacation.’ he continues, his dark tail flicking irritably. Were she not quite so high on her self-built pedestal, Nyimara might have found his sarcasm refreshing. However, simply knowing that he was HER captive was enough to earn him a look of irritation and authority. ”I do not recall making the request.” she responds, stamping a single foreleg into the sand before being instantly reminded of the gash left from her opponent. That would smart for a while yet.

She trots forward a few paces and pauses, curling her head back to shoot the stallion an expectant gaze, waiting for him to join her. It would do her no good to have him thirst to death on the beach before she could gather what information he had to offer. The least she could do is show him where a source of water and grazing could be found.

”You are here until I get what I want. So you might as well suck it up buttercup.” she replies, flicking her own tail back and forth in amusement. ”Come on, unless you prefer to fry right here on the beach.”