Rafe does his best to let the snide remarks she goaded him, instead lets them slide off of him like water on a duck’s back. He is just no fun at all anymore. Age must have really done its number on him. The last comment, though not spoken aloud, draws an impish smile to her lips and causes her to shake her head in an attempt to rid herself of the beast’s sharp retorts and focus on the stallion at hand. There were enough horses on the islands who already thought she was psychotic, no need in adding one of her allies to that list too.

Tentatively she listens as he explains that despite having come to an agreement, Marceline seemed to have apparently changed her mind and taken a different route. One that apparently did not sit very well with Rafe. A cheshire grin slides across her lips as she feigns innocence, ”But Rafe…. Surely it was not from YOU she stole so how is it that you came to be involved? Surely your kin is not so weak that they would stoop to begging for favors…. Kinda like you are doing now huh?” she taunts, flicking her long silver white tail playfully in his direction. She does not know his kin, nor did she even realize he had any on the islands, nonetheless, perhaps the brindle stallion would succumb to her bait and she might glean even more knowledge to stow away for future uses.

Nyimara knows that she should not have immediately taken offense to Rafe naming Marceline’s son as the heir to the Hills throne instead of their own get. However, call it pride, she had only assumed that Cato would be glued to his father’s hip these days and that Rafe would be carving away the rough edges of the chestnut overo in an attempt to train him into a fine lead stallion one day. The confusion on Rafe’s face as he speaks does not soothe her growing ire but instead pours the gasoline onto the glowing embers. Dark ears fall backwards again as she lifts her head. Fierce, near black eyes glare at her counterpart as the corners of her lips twitch, fighting a losing battle with the snarl on her lips. ”Then train it into HIM!” she snaps, stomping her hind hoof against the sands in agitation. ”You are his father after all, why should the duty of turning him into a leader land solely upon my shoulders?” She had tried with Raksha and that backfired, she tried with Warduna and so far the silver girl eluded her. She tried with Uhtred but all he cared for was finding his sire. Cato was supposed to be like Nycol. He was supposed to be vivacious and spirited, full of life and excited to learn and spread his wings. Nyimara assumed that when he left her side in search of his own future that it was his attempt at spreading his wings. Seeing the confused look on Rafe’s face only agitates her further. She already had one worthless daughter, she did not need a worthless son too.

The moment she mentions stealing as part of nature, Rafe makes it plain that she has plucked at a nerve. It is his turn for his fluted ears to disappear beneath the wind knotted mantle of his obsidian mane as he huffs an exasperated breath into the hot desert air. He proclaims his beliefs about stealing mares and even without the snubbing tone of distaste he accompanies with it, Nyimara knows that it is a proclamation as much as it is a promise. A single brow raises in warning as he proclaims willingness of a herd as a sign of good leadership and despite herself, Nyimara scoffs with her own distaste. She has never gotten anywhere by bending the knee and begging for followers. Mares and stallions alike followed her lead because of the powerful, callous nature of her leadership. An unwillingness to bend. That was what made her the witch queen and why her name was whispered in quiet voices. She was devious and part of that deviousness included stealing from her enemies. ”It’s a good thing you are cute then, otherwise I might just have robbed you blind old fool.” she purrs, chuckling lightly.

’It was his idea.’ Those words alone draw the beast to attention. ’His idea hmmmm?’ the feral creature ponders in the recesses of her mind and Nyimara lets the mask of indifference once more fall into place over her exotic features. Tentatively she listens as Rafe explains that the boy felt distaste for his mother’s actions and sought out his sire in hopes of remedying the situation while also taking a step up in this world. It was brave and perhaps a touch foolish, not even Nyimara dared to ever imagine dethroning her sire. Of course it helped that her mother died early in her young life so she had never been forced to take sides. However she did like to think that none of her children would ever be so….treacherous.

For a moment she is silent after Rafe finishes, mulling over the words that he spoke with careful consideration. To be honest, she would prefer to see Marceline dethroned but that was only because of the unspoken, carefully maneuvered game of “mine is better than yours” that they always seemed to play. However, a child eager to displace their parents and to go so far as to send another to solidify acceptance was a dangerous creature. Like a snake in the tall grass. It could turn and flee into the sand or disappear down a crevice in the rocks, but then again… the snake could turn and strike.

This time, Nyimara is the one to shrug her shoulders, fluted ears tilting sideways as if suddenly bored with the direction the conversation was being taken. ”You really want me to bother myself by coming to YOUR territory just to have a little chat with the kid next door?” she scoffs again, her long tail flicking lazily. ”My condition does not warrant me from being away that long. If this would-be boy-king wants my acceptance so badly then you can send him here.” she purrs, pausing for a moment to offer him a mischievous cheshire grin. ”I promise I won't bite.”