The pale stallion does not seem to take offense to her words, instead there is only intent interest in his dark brown gaze that continues to wrap the noose of comfort tighter around her soul. A boyish grin slides across his dark lips as he laughs and offers a glance to the silent mare at his side. The implication was so clear that even Nyimara had no trouble acknowledging it for what it was. Devotion. Once more that fictional desire rears its ugly head in her mind. Envy grasps at her. Jealousy pricks at her skin with its thorn sharp claws. Once more she finds the picture of Bjorn’s handsome face at the forefront of her memory and the beast is forced to choke it back with extended claws. She had once dreamed of such devotion, dreamed of finding a mate that would gaze upon her with the same adoration and tenderness as the rose stallion gazed upon the mare beside him. More than anything she had craved it more than the air in her lungs. Three beautiful children she had gifted him, three magnificent, bright and beautiful children Bjorn had been given in hopes of securing that loyalty from the bear king of the north. Yet fate had a funny way of unraveling things just when one became secure in it. At least, that is what Nyimara has learned. The bear king’s eyes wandered far to often to any other pretty face that batted an eye at him and the witch queen had been the victim of his dismissal so many times that even staring back at the silent connection between Antares and Sayyida causes her soul to clench and wrap itself tighter around the beast to prevent those feelings from rising to the surface once again. Ashen lips pressed together firmly as the silver haired queen clutches tightly to the mask of indifference, fearful it might slide out of place.

If she were completely honest, Nyimara finds his response to her question curious. Instead of growing angry or bitter by her choice of symbolism, the redheaded stallion merely meets her steady gaze with one of understanding and acceptance. Without batting an eye he nods his head in agreement, he understands. There were perhaps only a handful of horses on these islands that managed to understand her way of thinking. Only a few saw her reach for power as something beyond just herself. There was power in the crown she clung to so fiercely, however there were also responsibilities and that was something only a true born leader understood. She shifts the weight of her body from one side to the other, beginning to feel the beast’s uncomfort. The rose colored stallion with his blood red mane and speckled skin seemed far more understanding and level headed than she expected. The silver haired queen had all but expected him to take immediate offense to her choice of words and turned tail with his pretty little ‘wife’ at his side.

However as he begins to explain his reasoning, the calmness of his voice sweeps over her and washes away the grit and grime of suspicion. His reasoning is sound, throughout and carefully constructed; a task not easily accomplished on the whim of things. The spontaneity reassured both she and the beast that they were honest words, far more believable than the kindness in his gentle brown eyes. He speaks of his hope for her trustworthiness and fairness of rule, a shared joke between she and the beast that causes a smile to twitch the corners of her lips upwards in the beginnings of a smile. There were even fewer on the islands that believed her to be of sound mind. Had the stallion but listened to the rumors he might never have dared to cross her borders. And yet here he stands, his lean form at ease beneath the bright sun, patiently waiting for whatever decision might come from her lips. Fluted ears twitch amid the curls of pale mane that hug the curve of her throat. ”Say I agree to your terms. Say I take your words as truth and devotion as absolute.” she begins, pausing a moment before continuing again. ”You speak of people as though you wait on masses in the thousands to arrive.” she begins, giving her proud head a shake to rid her vision-field of the veil of silver white forelock. ”How many exactly ARE you expecting from your tribe to heed your call?” she inquires, finding herself growing more susceptible to the idea, especially with the unborn child she is sure her fertile womb now carries....