There is no words to pass between them. No need for anything save the contact of their skin as they brushed one against the other and the feel of the zephyrs twining about them. Moonlight bathes the sands in its pale silver blue light, reflecting off the granules underfoot and causing the Dunes to almost sparkle like a mirror of the dark skies above. Not a creature stirs, all tucked away into tiny crevices or burrows hidden beneath bottlebrush and stands of grass. Tonight there is only him. There is no crown of authority, no memories of Bjorn to haunt her dreams. There is no Rhaenys or other offspring wandering the islands and there is no Quinn tucked drowsily in the warm sands waiting for her to join him. There is no alliances to be made or enemies to be wary of. There are no gods or fates to taunt for their continued attempts to undermine her decisions. At this moment, there is only Nyimara and the fleetness of her own body. There is only the nameless stranger and his powerful stride that drives her on in unspoken challenge.

Together they move, together in unison their hooves eat at the sparkling sands until even the sound of their hooves is muffled by the thundering of her own heart in her ears. Never has Nyimara felt so free and untamed as she does in this moment with the wind whipping across her chiseled face and wrapping about her body in a lover’s embrace. Though her spirit might soar on, effortless and weightless, each extended stride reminds her of the limitations of her mortal body. What a fool she might appear to be if she were to admit defeat, if she were to fall to her hooves and tumble gracelessly down the Dunes, dragging in deep breaths and shaking like a newborn foal fresh from its mother’s womb. She and the beast are at war within, each determined not to be made the fool and yet both in agreement that they could not be defeated on their own territory by this wild stranger. So, without much thought beyond it, she plays her dirty trick, expecting that to be the end of the game and for the stallion to break the bond of silence that binds them together.

As surreal as their careless gallop across the dunes, the stallion meets her. Though her sudden shift had caused him to draw up to keep from slamming into her, still he does not let the game go. Nyimara is wrapped in the warmth of his scent, wrapped in the cool darkness and mingled odor of sand and sweat and testosterone. He reaches towards her with a graveled cry, his blunt teeth scraping the dark, drenched hairs of her withers and sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her burning veins. Instinctively she coils towards him, seduced by the rush of adrenaline and the promise of carnal lust the touch of his body against her own promises. Her dark eyes meet his, mirroring the wild gleam with one of her own. A new sort of hunger burns in her now, a hunger so hot that she no longer feels the coolness of the night around them. Lust pours from her body as he presses closer still. The moment when their game had gone beyond an innocent expedition into passion is blurred in her mind but all the same it is upon them. He is inquisitive and she needs it. Needs him more than she has ever felt the need for another. There is nothing beyond him now, nothing beyond this moment.

Long, silver white tail gleams in the moonlight as proudly she lifts it high across her hip, a response to his touch that needed no words. Her glistening figure shifts beneath the pressure of his teeth, lithe limbs dancing in anticipation for the fueled passion to continue for breathless as she is, she is far from being ready to see it come to an end. Paper thin nostrils flare, dragging in deep gulps of his scent and savoring the exotic and familiar flavors found there. An impatient squeal burns white hot from her lungs as she lifts her head, coiling her long dark neck and squaring her hips. Touch. Her body and mind screamed for it. The consequences beyond this moment are long forgotten, the shame or guilt or any other emotion beyond need thrown aside with the crown and blanket of authority she had abandoned when first deciding to join his reckless abandon. Freedom. She wants to drink him in. She presses closer to him, dampening her sweat glistened side with the perfume decorating his own damp flesh. Obsidian hooves shuffle beneath her as she swings the curve of her hip against him. Temptation. There was no going back now.