Nyimara does not think beyond this moment, does not register whether the decision she makes now might have some outcome for her or her crown in the near future. For the first time in as long as she can remember, there is only her own thoughts and feelings to rule the tides with which she found herself sailing on. Fire rules them as together they become one. The wild gleam in her eyes mirroring the smoldering flames within his own. There is no herd, no Dunes, no Quinn or Rhaenys, only the pounding drums of their own heartbeats and the slickened sound of mingled sweat decorating their bodies. His blunt teeth grasp for her neck, scrape the mahogany skin that usually hide itself beneath the curtain of her silver white mane. A raging squeal erupts from her lungs meant only to fuel the need and lust of the moment. Thoughts would only stain the moment.

But even pure ecstasy cannot last forever.

Breathless and winded both the headlong race and the activities afterwards, Nyimara turns to face the stranger. Near black eyes are bright still with the raging fires within as she exhales a heavy, satisfied sigh. Dark lips turn upwards in a victorious grin as her sweat darkened neck coils, lifting her head proudly. Lover. No, those are not the words that describe the stallion before her. There is no love between the two of them beyond an appreciation for glorious freedom and beautiful flesh. Her nameless companion it seems struggles momentarily with the same thoughts, longing to embrace shares spirits with the same intimacy that fueled the passion only moments ago. And yet, his gaze towards the stars stills whatever lingering affections might have drawn them beyond companions and into the embrace of lovers. Absently, she too turns her gaze towards the midnight skies above. Though stars still twinkled above, their light has dimmed by the approaching morning that lightens the black void backdrop upon which they hang. ’I do not think I can delay…’ the sound of his voice draws her gaze back to his handsome face. Pale lashes blink slowly over dark eyes in acknowledgement. It is time for her to return to the crown she had cast aside to take up the merry race across those glittering sands.

Silently she listens as he continues on, his heavy breath hot against her cooling skin. Windracer he calls her, the nickname endearing itself beneath the blank mask upon her face. His blunt teeth rake across the short, silken hairs of her mahogany skin, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her veins. The silver haired witch allows the mask to fall. She allows herself the moment to lean into the hard scrape of his teeth and the taunt, lean muscles of his dark body as he lingers nearer for a final moment. An exchange of breath, a heavy sigh, a blink of an eye. That is all that is left. Only a moment together before he is away with a fleeting goodbye. Nyimara settles the mask back into place. She does not bother to respond to his words, does not offer anything more than a knowing smile, hidden away behind the shadow of her bent head. ”Yes my stranger, we will meet again soon.” she breathes silently to herself as she watches his fleeting form dance away in a spray of glittering sand.

She allows herself a few moments of silent meditation, her dark eyes following his dark shape until it disappears behind the distant Dunes and out of her sight. The growing dawn wraps around her lithe figure, the first of the red-orange rays marking trails in the deep purple and pink skies above. She gives her proud head a shake, resettling the wind and passion tangled silver white tendrils of her mane. She would visit the farthest oasis this morning on her patrols, she would wash the stallion’s sweat and scent from her coat and bath in the dry hot sands of the Dunes. She might remove him from her skin to save herself of Quinn’s suspicious gaze and Rhaenys’ bold questions. She would remove him from the beautiful image that is shown to the world and yet forever would the memory of their passion and freedom remain nestled close to her heart and dreams. ”One day.” she repeats the words whispered from his lips aloud, letting the sound linger like a promise on her lips. One day.