Even in his pathetic state, the silver haired witch can tell that the dark stallion was a mighty beast. Far from thick boned, his sleek salted skin does little to hide the scars and marks of past battles and wars. A foolish ruler might take one look at him, lumped and wasted in the sand, and imagine him to be the loser of these encounters. Nyimara is not nearly foolish enough to rely on that theory. Though his eyes flutter up to gaze at her, there is no real recognition of her presence, at least not until the sarcastic purr falls from her lips. Only then does the stallion snap to life.

Dark ears lace tightly against his sand covered skull as the dark stallion bursts into motion. A graveled squeal spews from his parted jaws as, in a flurry of ocean drenched sand, he rises. ’I am no fool nor weak!’ he snarls, snaking his thin neck towards her. His blunt teeth clack together in the empty space between them, but even this is not enough to make the mahogany woman flench away or tense for battle. An appraising eye roams fearlessly over the reeling stallion. No doubt he would be a handsome addition to her little collection of chess pieces. The sharp contours of his body, while thin from malnourishment, did little to hide the lithe shape of his legs and strong slope of his back. This stallion was more like her desert borne mother than even she was and no doubt as easily adapted to the harsh lifestyle that Salem had to offer.

Defiantly he lifts his head, his unsteady gaze doing all within their power to emit some semblance of dominance. The idea make the beast within her cackle in amusement. A strong wind would be enough to topple him in this state and yet still he makes his stand. Foolish and brave; she had to give him that much.

He speaks again, diverting her fierce gaze back to his dished face. His words cause her fluted ears to prick forward and the attention of both she and the beast to sharpen. Yet another lost monarch spit back out by the dunes. ’By the gods the Dunes enjoy resurrecting its ghosts.’ she thinks to herself but does not dare to speak the words aloud. Instead, she keeps her exotic facade devoid of any emotion or recognition and instead blinks slowly in response, hoping to appear as though his confessions were a bore. The questions he bombards her with does however, draw a sliver of a smile to her lips, ghosting across the ash dusted corners but not quite managing to reach its full potential. He wanted to know who ruled now? Demanded that she give him a name to seek out the authority. ’He must be another one of those gender chauvinists.’ the beast purrs, its long tail curling tightly over elongated claws. Once more she finds herself on the precipice of wanting to laugh in his face and wanting to rip out his throat to rid the world of ever having to hear the words fall from his lips again.

And yet before either she or the beast can manage to make up its mind over which action the silver haired witch would take, there is another appearing. A flurry of movement charging down the beach draws her sharp gaze. Instinctively she turns to fix the intruder with a hard glare. Unlike the stallion, this woman had come from the Dunes, a wandering nomad like so many Nyimara has come across in recent months. Ash dusted lips peel back in displeasure as mahogany flutes disappear beneath the wind swept mantle of silver. An here she was thinking she was finally rid of them all.

There is no timid approach of the dark mare, no respectful dip of her skull, instead fire and venom dances in her dark eyes as she slides to a skillful halt beside the star dusted stallion. ’Curse your wicked tongue!’ she snarls, the words causing the beast to rise beneath Nyimara’s steely eyes. This time she does draw herself up, lifting her dished head a bit higher, curling her long neck inward to protect the vital jugular vein in her throat should the white dusted mare think to raise the battle call. It is clear she is outnumbered, but she has faced odds against her before and risen above. This was no different.

Momentarily the dark mare’s anger subsides as the stallion gains the majority of her attention. Though a single ear still fixates upon Nyimara, the whispered murmurings is enough to still her own tension. Clearing her throat to gain the attention of both strangers, Nyimara takes a step forward with a cheshire grin perfectly settled across her lips. ”As touching as this little reunion is…” she begins, batting her pale lashes pointedly at the dark mare before turning her attention back to the star speckled stallion. ”You wanted to know who rules the Dunes now… “ she continues, letting her voice trail for a moment as she lifts her long tail high over her hips, her dark gaze not altogether haughty and yet neither is it friendly either. ”I am Nyimara, daughter of Rougaru and Queen of the Dunes…” she purrs proudly with that strangely familiar lilt to her voice once more. A single lobe flickers as she waits a moment for the words she has spoken to settle between the pair before continuing on, the cheshire smile fading into something a bit more amused. ”Now tell me again… why is it you both” she remarks, pointedly glancing towards the fiery mare, ”have washed up on my shores uninvited? Let’s start with your names. We can see where we go from there.”