It is true that aside from diplomatic activities with the nomadic stargazers, Nyimara has spent little to no time with her own dwindling herd. Aside from the budding relationship with Quinn and the growing bond with Rhaenys, Nyimara has not bothered with seeking out the other members of her herd assuming only that they roam the Dunes of their own accord. Aside from her future aspirations for domination and chaos, she is a rather hands off leader when it comes to controlling a herd and is not one to try to keep them as a tight unit.

However when Kàra’s scream rings loud and clear across the vast sea of sand, the memory rises of the other members of her herd that she had not sought out as of late. Kàra. The oldest of her allegiances that still remained true and loyal. Kàra… the only one to bring her back from the brink of her own self destruction and breathe life into the fires of the smoldering embers within her. Where Shenzi had turned up her nose and thrust her aside at the first opportunity, Kàra remained the loyal watcher, her dark eyes gleaning every small scrape of knowledge and wisdom that Nyimara offered her. The desert borne daughter of Cain had not abandoned her and yet without even realizing it, the silver witch had put her on the backburner.

Tilting her own finely dished head towards the heavens, the silver witch let a bugle of her own erupt from her parted jaws. With a quick shake of her head, Nyimara launches herself into an easy ground eating gallop, lean muscles bunching beneath the silken mahogany hues of her coat as effortlessly she launches herself across the rolling Dunes of sand, leaving behind a spray of glittering granules in her wake. Paper thin nostrils flare wide as she drinks in the scorched air, letting the not so distant memories of her wild, midnight race renew the adrenaline surging through her veins. She felt untamed. Wild. A flame with no barrier to contain it.

Kàra is not hard to miss amid the dull browns and golden hues of the desert sands. The moonwashed color of her coat has lightened since the last time they were together but nonetheless, Nyimara recognizes the proud mare immediately. Her fleeting gait slows as she comes to a prancing halt. ”Kàra…” she purrs, the lilted flavor of her tongue tasting each syllable of the dappled mare’s name. ”I worried the Dunes might have swallowed you whole.” she jests, humor covering her usually venomous tones in a sickly sweet syrup. Small fluted ears press forward amid the tangle of her silver white tresses. Clearly the gray mare had something on her mind.