For a land that others claimed to be a wasteland, Nyimara was quickly discovering how busy it had become. Part of her liked to think it was because of her. Another example of the trials set onto her path by the gods. However it was more likely a fact that the islands simply had more horses than lands now and well, eventually they would all seek out even the most inhospitable place if it meant claiming a piece for home. Regardless of the real reason, the silver haired witch finds herself on near constant border patrol to avoid being taken off guard again. The sand storm had brought with it a fair share of strangers and she was determined to make the islands remember her name as more than just an old nightmare. She was back and nothing would get her down.

As she nears the beach, the scent of unfamiliar testosterone lingers on the trail of the billowing breeze. Small copper ears perk forward amid the tangle of her silver mane as she pauses. Lifting her muzzle again, she tests the flavor of the scent, recognizing it as the faint markers that had gone stale before she took up her own claim. Had he returned to take back his lands? ’I think not’ she huffs to herself as ears disappear beneath the thick mantle and a bugle of challenge rings from her lungs. Purpose draws urgency to her gait as fleet footed, she floats over the malleable sands, topping the rise with a few long strides. Dark eyes scan the oceanscape before her, but he is easy to spot. Like a patch of snow, his white spotted coat stands out against the shifting azul of the glittering ocean. He was eye catching to say the least and Nyimara did enjoy letting her dark gaze roam over his sturdy frame. Were it any other, she might have thanked her lucky stars for the gods sending such a gift all but to her doorstep; but this was the stallion who had lived her before her. With that in mind, she forced such lusty ideas from her thoughts and ventured more slowly down the slope, digging her heels into the sand and letting the shifting ground propel her down the dune with little effort on her part. Small, dark ears press forward now as she steps onto the hard, compact sands, her long neck arching elegantly. ”You have come a long way it seems…” she begins, drawing nearer.

Dark eyes rise to meet his as she wades into the warm surf, stepping high over the foaming waves that pool beneath her. A single brow raises as she tilts her dished head. ”Looking for rest…. Or something more?” the question clear and precisely driven. Regardless of his intentions, he was something pretty to look at, might as well enjoy the view while she could. Fall was not that far behind them. The lingering urge to press and curl against a stallion still haunted her thoughts even if the need had already passed from her body. She moves even closer to him now, uncoiling her neck to stretch her muzzle towards his own, letting the whiskers of his lips tickle the velvet of her own. ”Who are you?” she asks, her tone sultry smooth and heavy laden. Perhaps this would end in a different type of bloodshed afterall.