The red queen of the Hills offers a lighthearted laugh and points at her own expanding belly. A knowing chuckle rumbles from Nyimara’s breast as the silver haired queen nods her head. How much easier the world would be if only it were the men forced to carry these so called bundles of joy. Of course that would only leave the female race with all the power that males tended to proclaim for themselves. The gods saw things a bit differently than Nyimara however and so again, she must carry the burden of her desires and not the other way around.

The wicked grin that slides across Marceline’s face as she taunts the white and smoke Rehoboam does much to soothe the tension that Nyimara always felt when meeting with the red mare. Marceline had taken control of the Hills when Cullen dethroned her. The silver haired witch had always hoped to return to the Hills of Salem but the red woman was not willing to vacate her throne. As time went on, Nyimara learned to content herself in the desert but it has been the Dunes that she really finds her stride as a queen. Funny how things work out.

She does not bother to respond to Marceline’s jeering at Rehoboam, merely grins her own wicked grin and shoots the muscular stallion a hard glare. Despite her best attempts at making it clear his company here is unwelcome, Rehoboam seems determined to continue to get under her skin. Whether that desire was simply because he no longer dared to react physically to her abuse or he sought to spy she could not be sure. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The more time she spent with the Lagoon stallion under her thumb the more aware she became of just how calculated and secretive he was about his thoughts, especially after their little…. Enterlude.

Regardless, Nyimara makes no further attempts to physically remove Rehoboam, instead she content herself with pointedly turning her back on him and focusing solely on Marceline as the mare begins to speak. The smile on her ashen lips broadens as Marceline drifts over the implication left by her words. Instead of flashing a look of irritation or curling back her ears in displeasure, the red queen merely continues on with the conversation as though she had completely missed Nyimara’s point. Amusing… but not completely unsurprising. Marceline was determined to see a united Salem and like herself, was relying on the few allies that had been made to ensure that this came to pass. To lock horns now over a stallion that neither had any intentions of giving up their kingdoms to join was foolish on more than one level. The mahogany witch merely nods her head in acknowledgment, doing her best to ignore the ire she felt at knowing that Marceline and Rafe conversed together without her. Were they making plans behind her back? Were they trying to turn against her? It was unlikely at the moment, but still the cautious woman kept her hand of cards close to her breast.

’What do you know of the stallion in the Desert?’ the question draws her gaze to the red-gold mare’s auburn eyes once more. A single brow raises as Nyimara mimics surprise. ”You mean you have not met him yet?” the purr from her lips lingers between amusement and true astonishment. A faint smile tugs at the corners of her ashen labrums as she gives her finely dished head a toss, riding her vision field of the troublesome silver white locks. She glances towards Rehoboam before turning once more back to Marceline. ”You could say I’ve met him a time or two.” she adds with a playful chuckle, her near black eyes dancing mischievously.