The silver bay mare was passed the stage of enjoying her pregnancy. Now, she was only too ready to see it end. Agitation had taken over her mind and body. Grant it, that was partly as a result from the less than beneficial meeting with Rafe. In the days since he left, Nyimara found herself growing more and more irritated and outraged by the mere idea that she ought to travel to the badlands to meet his half grown offspring instead of the boy venturing into her domain. Of course she had quite the fearsome reputation but even so, for her once lover to believe she ought to endanger herself or her child was a simmering pot that she felt almost certain might one day boil over.

In the aftermath, Nyimara felt secure in her decision to remain in the Dunes, especially when the turbulent storms came not many days afterward. She liked to think that somehow she had a hand in the deluge that poured itself down upon the island of Salem. Even now, the memory of watching the thunder and lightning cracking over the western horizon brought her a sense of justification, as if the very fates saw reason to send their displeasure down upon Rafe and his merry band for daring to needle at her worth. Even as the rains fell across the Dunes, sending herself and the rest of her herd into refuge beneath the large acacia and flowering laurel trees. Even as the oasis flooded its banks and hid the green shoots of fresh grass beneath its murky, muddied waters, Nyimara still felt nothing but satisfaction.

In the end, as they always had, the rains diminished and the once angry black clouds disappeared to reveal bright blue skies in the days that followed. As was typical for the arid desert, the sun warmed the sand covered earth and the waters once more began to recede towards their banks. It would be weeks before they completely returned and even longer for the muddy grasses to regrow the drowned tendrils that had been buried in the silt washed up by the storms. However, as was any good, desert queen, Nyimara learned how to adapt and taught her daughter and any of the others who cared to observe, the same information. A good rub or well placed kick to the woody trunk of a date palm dropped sweet orange fruit. The lower branches of the laurel and acacia trees were much tougher but provided sustenance. Even the prickly pear cactus that had always grown in abundance near the border of the desert provide nourishment while the sweet green grasses around the oasis began their regrowth. All in all, the Dunes herd suffered very little from the storm and Nyimara liked to think it was due to her prowess and power. Finally, she had the favor of the gods.

Today, like may in the past days, she spends her morning grazing beneath the shade of a tall mesquite tree, rummaging through the thick patch of buffalo grass and debating whether she felt like lugging her swollen belly over the next few dunes to search for dates left behind by the grazing herds of antelope that had recently made their way across her territory. When the call resounded over the Dunes, the silver haired witch lifted her small head with dark eyes narrowed and a sly smile carved into the dark velvet of her lips. Though unfamiliar to her, the silver haired witch had little doubt as to the owner of the summons. Rafe had passed on the message.

This time, the heavily pregnant woman takes her time in approaching the stranger, finding some satisfaction in making the entitled youth wait in her court for her approach. Of course the swell of her belly did play some part in this master plan but she pushed that out of her mind. He did not need to know the struggle she found herself in when hauling herself up the dunes these days. When finally she does top the rise separating them, dark eyes fall immediately on the smoky blue colt that stood just beyond the well marked border to the desert territory. Dark ears fall backwards amid the wind swept tendrils of her silver white mane. Paper thin nostrils flare as the mahogany woman inhales the strong musk of testosterone brought to her by the gently blowing zephyrs. Definitely Rafe’s child. She can see him in the strong masculine lines of the smoky overo’s jaw and the wide set of his square shoulders. There is very little of Marceline evident from this distance but that does not mean that he is not the red queen’s son. Why the thought of a child turning against his mother left such a bitter taste in her mouth is for her thoughts alone. Rafe and Marceline have never known anything of her history with Bjorn and as far as Nyimara was concerned, it would remain that way. However that did not mean that memories of Sigurdr and Skogsra do not now arise in her mind and how easily they had parted from her for the fanciful promises of grandeur offered by their father.

Yet she had promised Rafe she would not bite so skillfully, the mask of indifference falls into place and her fangs hide behind the warm smile that lifts the corners of her ashen lips. She closes the remaining distance between them as effortlessly as she can manage, foregoing the flaunting prance for something more akin to a powerful forward thrust of her hooves until she stands between the youth and her kingdom. ’Nyimara….’ her name flows effortlessly from his lips as he drops his head into an over exaggerated bow. No doubt a nice little trick Rafe advised him to gain our favor. The beast hisses against her ears but Nyimara dismisses the words with a flick. Two could play this game and she was far older and wiser than to show her hand so quickly. ’May I say you look even more beautiful up close?’ the next words that fall from his lips does indeed draw a chuckle as her dark eyes glitter. ”Yes… what a sight I must be. I assure you that given a few months you might think me ethereal if this is your idea of beauty.” she purrs, her long sun-bleached tail flicking in good natured humor. He had his father’s charm, she had to give him that.

For a moment there is continued silence between them, each sizing up the other for materialistic purposes no doubt. Nyimara has never been one to turn away a handsome suitor and though the picture he painted before her is tainted with his relationship to Marceline, she tucks the ideas spawning away for recollection in a private moment. At that moment, the blue roan speaks. Evrain. Rafe had told her this much. However what else he had to say is enough to really catch the attention of herself and the beast. ’Marceline is dead…’ Now this is news. He goes on to say that she died in the Badlands storms and that he has taken over the Hills in her place. So, Rafe’s little plan is already in motion.’ she muses to the beast, stifling the feral growl that lingers in her throat. Rafe might be even more deviant than she had originally given him credit for.

He remains silent for a moment longer, whether to give her a moment to process the information or in hopes of hearing some heartfelt condolences she is not quite sure, however when he does finally continue, there is an implication in the tone of his voice that draws her dark ears forward and her pitless black eyes to his brilliant blue depths. For a moment she debates about refusing him, making him bake in the hot sun parched and cottonmouth in hopes that this will weaken his desire for conversation and force him to get right to the point. However, even she was beginning to feel the harshness of the sun’s rays and it was not very far to the oasis that she shared with the Desert herd. ”I suppose that would be a polite thing to do, especially since you traveled so very far and across the Desert from the looks of it…” a sly grin creeps across her lips as she turns, ”Very brave of you to enter the wolf’s domain uninvited. He usually does not take kindly to strangers.” she purrs, flicking her tail in invitation as she navigates a path across the Dunes. It does not take them long to come to the swollen banks of the large oasis. From the high point of the Dune, Nyimara searches the opposite bank for any signs of her father or his herd. It has been a few days since she laid eyes on them but she has no doubt that they survived the worst of the weather in much the same way as her own herd. It would be nice to have had the old wolf staring down this ambitious youth from across the waters but well, there was always time to make that happen, even if it did not happen today.

”So….” she begins, ambling carefully down the hillside, minding the pendulum swing of her pregnant belly as the sands give and fall beneath her hooves. ”What is this grand scheme you have in mind? Rafe made it seem as though you only hoped to unseat Marceline.” she begins, tilting a single fluted lobe towards him as they walk.