The Lost Islands
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My heart has teeth;

NYIMARA
I'm headed straight for the castle;




Determination is clearly yet another thing the two siblings share in common. Nyimara had hoped that the contact of her body against his and the warmth of her fetid breath against his skin would set the dark stallion on edge. She always found it strangely exhilarating to see the unease as it swept from hooves to eartips over another creature. She was in her element then; powerful and vicious in both ambition and purpose.

But it would seem that Fell has caught on to her little game of cat and mouse. Instead of shrinking away in fear or apprehension, the inkling stallion bristles, drawing his armor tightly around him. He pushes back against her, hiding his disgust beneath a layer of defiance and rage. His onyx ears lace tightly against his skullcap so that only the curled tips are visible beneath the thick waves of his mane. Inwardly the beast grins and sits up straighter, concentrating on the chess game before it. This was getting interesting.

Her veiled threat does not go unanswered.

Her anger at his wish to take Rhaenys from her is met with frustration of his own. She whispers her threat against his skin, lean muscles tensed beneath her chocolate hide in preparation for the battle she is sure to come. Yet Fell refuses to rise to the bait she lays before him. Instead he pivots his heels away from her, purposefully placing the small child between his saucer-like hooves protectively. He does not respond to her threat as she would have hoped with parted lips and gnashing jowls. His lips part, but not in retaliation to tear into her flesh. And then he does something Nyimara does not expect.

Instead of lunging at her, he drops his head to grasp the child’s small skull between his blunt, grass-stained teeth. Feral yellow gold eyes fix the silver haired queen firmly in their intense gaze. The implication is as clear as if he had spoken the words aloud. If she tried to take the child from him, he would end its life. Rather a dead filly than to be defeated at her hands.

While normally, Nyimara would not blink an eye at the demise of another, there was some ingrained need to protect the life of a young child that stills her movement. Damn mother nature.

Instinctively she halts her forward progress. Dark eyes glaring back at her brother with venomous contempt. She had been so certain that the hand she dealt was a victorious one. For a moment they are at a stalemate, both waiting wordlessly for the other to make the first move against them, neither willing to bow out. Around them the world stills, as if nature itself waited to see the outcome of this battle of wills. Even the rolling waves over the sandy shores seemed to quiet itself, waiting.

Finally the mahogany woman breaks. A throaty chuckle rumbling from her own lungs as dark eyes gleam beneath the thick veil of her silver mane. ”If you are willing to murder your own offspring in the name of alliance then perhaps you may be of use to me in the future.” she murmurs, her voice sultry as she gives her finely sculpted head a shake. Tension ebbs from her skin as she rolls her shoulders and flicks the end of her unusually long tail towards the beach behind her. ”Not today. I must… prepare.” she continues, more to herself than to the dark stallion before her. Of course she had no intentions of giving Rhaenys away so freely without the shedding of blood. But her beautiful daughter was not the only foal on Salem. Surely there was another that she could pass off as her own blood. But that would require time and a great deal of searching. Not to mention she needed to key Quinn in on her little plan before it backfired in her face.

She glances back to Fell. ”Come back the day after the dark moon. My child will be ready for you then.” she purrs, grinning maliciously as she slinks away from the shore and begins her trek once more towards the rising Dunes. Only once does she pause, arching her long neck to glance back at the black stallion, ”Never forget brother....” she draws the words out as the smile turns into something far more sinister. ”Threats against me are rarely met with victory.”

HTML © RILEY





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