The indignation in Rhaenys’ squeal speaks volumes. Nyimara does not harm the girl’s ego by watching the emotions as they roll across her dark face. Without even looking, she knows how Rhaenys feels. Surprise. Anger. Embarrassment. Determination. Each one took their turn dancing through the girl’s dark eyes as much as it had once danced through her own. Even now she recalls the days spent on the shores of Ora with her father standing proudly over her own crumpled form. He had been less nonchalant than Nyimara was now but the lessons no different. ’It is easier to come from me than to see her fall against anyone else.’ the beast whispers and the mahogany mare nods her small head in silent agreement. An opponent with more to lose would indeed show less restraint and perhaps more viciousness depending on the circumstances.Nyimara herself had once been weak and untrained and be damned if she would let the same come upon her daughter. She had tried with Raksha, fought tooth and nail to teach the red gold girl some sense of self resilience and fighting spirit but she had fled at every pro-offered opportunity. She disappeared one day from the Hills and Nyimara has neither seen nor heard from her since. Dead or alive Nyimara does not know but she has done her part. Skogsra…. Well, Bjorn stole her away shortly after she had been weaned. Perhaps that was why her heart held such conflicting emotions of pure rage and adoration for the smoky blue stallion. Rhaenys… Rhaenys was hers completely. The dark stallion that sired her had not stuck around long after their adrenaline fueled coupling to be sure of her conception nor had Nyimara bothered to seek him out. He had done his part as far as she was concerned and Nyimara could not be prouder.

Rhaenys does not dwell long on the repercussions of her actions. As Nyimara expects, the taunt of a race quells her embarrassment and replaces it instead with equal measures of determination and pleasure. A laugh of her own vibrates within the concave of her breast as the mahogany mare drops her small muzzle to arch her long neck. An impish squeal rises from her parted lips at Rhaenys’ nip. Long silver white tail switches in the girl’s general direction but already Rhaenys is drawing at her shoulder. Muscles coil and release as her strides are lengthened to match the swift pace of the sooty black girl. Fleet footed as a gazelle, the mother and daughter cross the dunes of sand, the sound of their hooves muffled by the loose granules underfoot. Wind buffets them, drawn up by the speed and energy the two horses expelled. ’I’m waaaaaayyyyy faster than you!’, the challenge in the little filly’s laughing voice draws a thin line of determination across her own features as Rhaenys surges ahead with a renewed burst of energy. Laughter spills from her lips as she nips at the girl’s black flank and lets her gait slow as they ascend the Dune before them. ”You are fast my darling girl. I am sure even the antelope will find it hard to keep your pace for long.” she concedes with a breathless sigh. Dark ears prick forward amid the wind knotted tangle of her own silver white mane.

For a moment she stands in silence, savoring the warm heat of the autumn sun and the coolness in the breeze as it swept over her sweat slickened skin. ”How much do you remember about your grandsire? Do you remember the stories I once told you about how many of his offspring now walk the islands?” she asks, turning her dark gaze to corner Rhaenys into sobriety. ”There are those who are….” she begins, pausing a moment to search through her vocabulary for the best definition. ”Complacent. Submissive even in ways that you nor I will ever be forced to collar.” she continues with a proud til of her head, glancing over the sweeping mounds of sand beyond them. ”I will never bow down or cow to a foe and I hope you will grow into the same confidant queen one day.” she breathes, sighing heavily as her gaze once more returns to her daughter. ”I tell you this so that you are aware of the plans that Quinn and I have set in place.” she continues, stomping her hoof in anger as the memories of Fell’s visit rekindle the dormant anger she had felt. ”Your uncle Fell wants to take you, my daughter, to Tinuvel to live as a subservient beneath the Ice king Solomon. He wants to force my hand at the risk of your safety to say my vengeance against the Cove king. I refuse to bend” she says, pausing now as a coy smirk draws across her lips. Proudly she lifts her finely dished head a bit higher. ”So Quinn and I have devised a plan. When the black stallion returns, it will not be you he comes for but another that will stand in your place. When this happens, I expect you to remain out of sight.” she continues, her voice dropping in octave as a single brow raises. ”This plan will ONLY work if you listen and resist your urge to play the spy.” she adds, a smirk twitching at her ashen lips. ”I don’t miss much my dear, and I do not mind it but this will be different. Promise me.”