Respect. It is the one thing that Nyimara has longed for all her life. Rougaru had been sparing in his compliments in her youth, a trait that had taught her eagerness for acceptance and approval in his eyes. Bjorn had blanketed her in it in the first few seasons of their life in the Ridge, reveled in her wildness and opened in burley arms to the untamed nature of her beauty. She had been content then, happy even. Yet as was his nature (or so she had learned), his gaze had been as fleeting as the seasons. It was not long before he strayed away, before he left her alone to run her races against the gulls or frowned upon her bursts of chaos. Even Aranck, as promising and fearful as the spider king was, had shown little respect for her beyond her own power and prowess. Nyimara had walked on eggshells in the Arch until the day came when Solomon herded her away to the Lagoon to become a plaything for the bachelor stallions. The spider king had not even lifted a hoof in her defense regardless of the fact that she had just birthed his daughter.

Where any other mare might have succumbed to the cards that fate had dealt them, Nyimara overcame them. She fought tooth and nail for her freedom, fought for her chance to become leader and control her own fate and yet still the world showed her little respect. She had come to expect the suspicion and guarded eyes. She expected the judgemental curve of their lips and the disguised disdain. What she did not expect was for that to change so suddenly.
This time, it is her turn to gaze suspiciously upon the stranger as he tilts his head towards her and regards her with even tones. His logical words beg her body to relax but still her mind is not ready to accept the words of a stranger so easily. Nonetheless, a warm smile curves across her ashen lips as she nods her finely dished head in agreement. That had always been the philosophy the old wolf had instilled in her. Borders were the first barrier between any kingdom and alliances or enemies. To ignore a border automatically set a leader on edge and incited threat even if intentions were innocent enough. A practice she knew too well but it seemed so many have forgotten.

As blunt as her response is, the pale stallion seems to take no offense. A warm smile curves across his lips as he introduces the mare at his side. Wife. The word is foreign to her ears but she had heard them before. Atair introduced the fiery Eness as his ‘wife’ and the silver witch can only assume that it is akin to what she has only ever heard of as a mate. Dark eyes glance for a brief moment at the silent mare alongside the stallion and then once more at the crimson haired nomad. Antares is the name he gives himself and silently, Nyimara tests the syllables upon her own tongue, savoring the exotic flavors the name left in its place. He admits that he had once been ruler here and this draws her small head up, dark eyes narrowing on his face. Though battle worn and exhausted from travel, the silver witch does not miss the scars along his frame or the wealthy supply of lean muscles gleaming beneath his rose colored coat. He would prove to be a challenging opponent, regardless of his condition. And yet as her mind whirls around ways and places to lead him on a merry chase for battle, the stallion’s words break apart the plan. He had no intentions of ruling.

Dark ears flicker amid the tumbling curls of her silver white mane. Dark brows narrow suspiciously as she presses her ashen lips together in thought. He continues on, asking that she grant him space in the Dunes for his people and educating her on some agreement that had long ago faded with his rule. She and the beast listen intently. Having such a strong alliance would prove beneficial to her, and a strong tribe as he called them, helping with patrols would ease the burden of such an expansive task. It would even give her an opportunity to spend more time with Rhaenys and Quinn. Their lodging would even allow her more time to plot her revenge against Solomon and pursue the diplomatic measures that had been sorely lacking on her part. On the downside, she would be inviting strangers into the Dunes and who knows how long such an agreement might stand in place. Was this a mere plot to give Antares time to heal before he issued his challenge? Was he searching for her weaknesses to report back to her enemies? Would he and his ‘tribe’ be content with just the eastern dunes or would they slowly try to take advantage of her from within?

He continues on, speaking of their separation and promise to defend the borders nearest where they would like to camp. The stallion promises to take responsibility for his followers and leave the decisions of the land alone to her. A part of her sees nothing but a positive outcome of this, and yet the voice that speaks is that of suspicion. ”You are a wise leader of that I feel assured….” she begins, cocking a hind leg comfortably in amicable conversation. ”You are like I. You have lived many years and childish impulses are as much beyond your reach as my own.” she purrs, blinking slowly before returning her gaze to his, a crooked smile ghosting across her lips. ”So you will remember that rot begins from the inside long before it makes its appearance to the visible eye.” she murmurs, pausing a moment to let her words hang between them. The gentle wind curls around them, teasing the ends of her silver white mane and lifting them away from her mahogany neck. ”Why should I trust the words of a stranger who seeks to come into my home with nothing to offer save patrols that will benefit him?” she asks her lilted tones devoid of emotion as dark eyes continue to study his own intently. Waiting.