Like carrion birds appearing at the beckon of a carcass, the nomads continue to appear. The black star Atair had mentioned that he hoped to find other members of his family that had been left behind but the silver witch never imagined that he might actually find them. The lands of Salem had a way of burying its inhabitants beneath the seas of sand and leaving it to the gods to decide in what manner it was that they would return. It was times like this that Nyimara imagined herself more like the goddess Eris than a mere mortal queen.

Dark eyes blink against the bright sunlight as the two figures appear. Their steps are purposeful… searching, but nonetheless, they seem almost lost. A single dial twitches as as a third crests a distant rise in a flurry of spraying sands and excited vocals. The beast within shares her irritation, made clear by the backward turn of her mahogany ears and the firm press of her ashen lips. Had she known the day she gave Atair passage that he would dredge up every ghost on Salem, she might have thought better about the decision. The Dunes were quickly becoming more like Tartarus than the vastly fierce kingdom she imagined.

Nonetheless, ever the watchful and dutiful queen, she makes her way slowly down the hillside of sand and grit. She is careful to keep her steps even, despite the rising adrenaline that begs her lean body into something more fierce and provocative. Pale, silver-white mane dances along the arched curve of her long neck, moving to the whispering tune of the arid zephyrs. She pauses within earshot, her fluted ears lifted and dished muzzle angles towards the strangers. ”Three more of Salem’s ghosts?” she purrs, the tone of her words more of a statement than a true question. She flicks her unusually long tail idly, ”I had assumed they were all bleached bones beneath the sands by now.” she finishes, a mild smile playing upon her lips.

The witch queen turns her gaze towards the horizon, ”Whatever time you are from, like the rest of the ghosts, the light of the baking sun will either scorch you or breathe warmth back into your veins.” she murmurs, glancing back to the trio once more. She pauses in silence now, her dark, calculated eyes unreadable as they travel over each desert bred figure after the other. ”Who are you to tread through the kingdom of the silver witch with such fearlessness? Do not even ghosts listen to the stories of mortals?” she asks, her lilted tones gilded in humor.