Nyimara watches with veiled jealousy as her inky sibling tenderly ruffles the fuzzy hairs along the dark girl’s crest. It had been years now but she can still picture Bjorn doing just the same thing with Raksha. Bjorn. The name twists within her and she gives her proud head a shake, blinking away the memories and stashing them back into the recesses of her mind. He was gone and like a pebble tossed into the sea, he was nothing. Nothing.

The child stirs awake under the gentle prodding of her sire. A single dial twitches as she watches the emotions race across the babe’s azul eyes. Confusion and fear gain control of her as the child tenses and casts her eyes wildly about her for some sign of familiarity. Only at Fell’s touch does she begin to settle into something akin to silence. Like the child, Nyimara herself is confused. Why would her brother bring his filly here? Where was it’s mother? Was he hoping to hide it amid the maze of Dunes until whatever threat has passed? Her dark eyes rise from the child back to the obsidian stallion in search of answers. This would all have been so much easier if he could just figure out how to form his words.

’Get to the point!’ she wants to scream but instead forces herself to remain as stoic as possible. Dark eyes narrow as he glances down at the filly once more before tilting his head first to one side of the silver witch and then the other, making it quiet obvious he searched for something. Only when he dropped his muzzle back pointedly to the filly and then again raises it to meet her gaze does she begin to understand. He was searching for her child.

Nyimara had been careful to keep herself mostly concealed in Salem during the height of her pregnancy to avoid unwanted attention. The sweet aroma of her own milk and the swell of her laden teats is another matter and one that cannot be easily hidden away anytime soon. Dark ears tilt backwards and then forwards again as she processes this inquiry with measured calculation. Why would he show such interest now in her offspring when the last few foals she had borne he had hardly acknowledged? When Fell bumps his whiskered muzzle against his broad chest and then drops his head to nudge the child, Nyimara begins to understand. He wanted her child in exchange for his own. Blood ties.

For once, the silver haired queen is impressed. It was a noble attempt and such an exchange would indeed bind her hooves in allegiance. Rhaenys was precious to her, as were all of her children, and clearly it was a trait that Rougaru passed down to his dark son as well. Yet like a child possessively hoarding its favorite toys, Nyimara is not one to freely share. Again she finds herself caught between admiration and fury. Did he think she would be so willing to give away her child? Dark eyes flash with rage but the mahogany woman forces the growl into silence with a flip of her forelock. For once, she is glad that Rhaenys was carefully tucked away under the watchful eyes of Quinn. At least the stallion was good at something besides hungry words and even hotter touches.

The thought occurred to her that she could always play off the child’s death with glistening tears and choked words. However she felt certain that her brother was no fool. Regardless of how carefully she tried to hide the swells of emotions inside her, it was quite clear his implication had affected her. And yet there was another thought that arose at the monster’s whispered prodding. What was to stop her from taking his child now? After all, he was on her shores, in her territory uninvited. Now she did not doubt that he would put up a brave fight and Nyimara did not relish the idea of having to face the obsidian stallion in battle but…

She smiles. The smile that curves across her lips now is more feral than it is friendly. Pale lashes bat slowly over dark eyes as she steps nearer, brushing her sleek chocolate skin against that of the dark stallion as she circles him. ”A trade eh? I think not brother” she purrs, her voice honey laced venom. She leans into his hip now, pressing her body tightly against hers unless he dared to step awkwardly over his daughter. Here she stops, aware that he might attempt to kick at her with his hind legs but more sure that the closeness of their contact would prevent any real damage from those powerful hooves of his. ”What makes you think I won’t just take her?” she continues, snaking her finely dished head around to trail her velvet lips across his barrel.