One thing about Nyimara that even the most reserved islander might admit as fact was that if she saw something she liked, she usually tried her damnest to make it her own. She had not gone out with the intention of bringing the stallion back with her but well, when she saw him grazing amicably along side the older stallion, Nyimara could not resist. Pretty and submissive. At least, that was the outward appearance.

Without a second thought on the matter, she had immediately taken to battling the older pale stallion. Though she was far from being called youthful anymore, the silver haired witch manages to best her opponent. He might be older and more knowledgeable in defending a herd (clearly from the size of the herd that grazed loosely around him), Nyimara’s desert trained body does not give much room for error. The battle is short but no less vicious as is her nature. When finally the pale stallion takes a step back in defeat, Nyimara cannot help but to exhale a sharp breath in both victory and pleasure. Pink tongue swipes across her lips as she savors the last tang of the stallion’s blood, eyeing the dark stain that was the result of a particularly well placed assault. Adrenaline continues to pulse through her veins, masking the throb of her own shoulder where the Prairie lead managed to land a kick of his own. She would feel that shortly but for now, she planned on taking advantage of the absence to herd her newest acquisition home.

Bending her head to scratch at a trickle of blood on her knee, Nyimara waits patiently for a moment as the two stallions converse together. Apart she might never have known them to be father and son but now, watching the two together, it was clear that the painted buckskin stallion took after his sire in build more so than appearance. ’Be careful…’ the alabaster stallion’s words cause her ears to twitch. Dark eyes glance towards them from beneath the thick veil of her silver forelock. Careful of what? ’Keep your eyes open… and….’ these words are enough to cause her to stop her hoof, splattering fresh blood onto the churned dirt. Dark ears disappear beneath the curling tendrils of her mane as Nyimara steps forward, ignorant of the rest of the words that fell from the stallion’s lip. ”Come on let’s go.” she growls, twining her way between them to give the painted stallion a firm shove before lunging forward at an uneven trot towards the beach.

From her peripheral, she catches the movement of the prairie stallion as he too wades through the white capped waves lapping the shoreline. Inclining her head, Nyimara turns back to glance at him as he approaches. ”Welcome to your new home away from home.” she purrs, batting her long pale lashes at him as a catty grin spreads across her velvet lips. ”My name is Nyimara.” she continues, dipping her finely dished muzzle slightly in emphasis. ”Queen of the Dunes.” she adds, finding the flavor all the more exhilarating on her tongue especially after such a sweet victory. ”What is your name?” she asks, her curiosity rising as she takes a step forward and glances back at him expectantly. It was his choice, let her guide him towards shelter or stand out here and freeze in the cold that settled on the Dunes each night.