Nyimara has never been a patient creature, and her impatience seems to grow even stronger as the days of discomfort in her pregnancy seem to drag on. Each morning she finds herself hopeful that the first pangs of labor might indicate her discomfort was drawing to a close, and each evening her disappointment was evident in the sharp nips and dark glares she turns on Quinn and even Rhaenys. However, ever the proactive mare, Nyimara is determined to do things her way. Instead of sticking to the flatter area near the oasis, the silver haired queen continues on her usual routine of patrolling the borders, especially since the once secured alliances on Salem seemed to be strained as of late. Call it intuition but somehow, Nyimara doubted that the newly crowned Hills king would be as content inside his borders as Marceline had.

Today like many before, the pregnant mare rises before dawn and leaves behind the sleeping forms of her king and daughter for a few moments of freedom on the beach. Little did she know that such a trip would result in more unexpected news and a reunion with one of her eldest daughters. Skogsra’s appearance in the Dunes brought to her news of Sigurdr and Bjorn’s return. While she liked to tell herself and the beast that she had little love for the smoky stallion, that did not mean that she was not all too ready to ruin whatever peaceful paradise he tried to secure for himself. Still, the fact that Sigurdr had not come to visit her did hurt, even if she kept that knowledge close to heart. Though her firstborn had been just weaned when she left to fight Warsaw’s war, and it was not long after that he became Bjorn’s little shadow. It was only natural that he might gravitate towards the smoky blue stallion instead of her, especially since they had become more like enemies than ex lovers. It is these thoughts that linger in her mind when Skogsra returns to the ocean, leaving her watching the pale-faced mare’s bobbing head manage the invisible currents of the ocean until she is far beyond the Queen’s line of sight. Only then does Nyimara turn her attention inland and begin once more wandering her way back towards the large oasis the Dunes shared with the Desert. With any luck, today she might finally run up on the old wolf and exchange news with him. He had no interest in Bjorn but he might be interested in known that the stallion was back.

The first pangs of labor begin slowly, appearing as nothing more than a pulled muscle instead of the gut wrenching pain that she was prepared for. It is only the gushing of liquid between her flanks that brings her awareness back from her thoughts and onto the realization that she was in true labor. ’Of course it would start when I’m not expecting it!’ she growls to herself, glancing around her. The oasis was still a fair distance away and at the rate her labor was progressing, Nyimara did not dare risk a trek quite that far. Besides the usual rise and fall of sandy dunes, the silver haired witch can just make out the bushy top of a mesquite tree on the other side of the ridge ahead of her. With teeth clenched to stave off the worsening discomfort, the mahogany mare crosses the distance at a ginger gait, careful not to swing her belly too much for fear of bringing danger to her unborn. While she thought the progress across the ridge was taxing, the descent from the rise into the vale proved to be even more challenging. Sweat darkens her already dark coat, flecks of white foam appearing along her neck and shoulders as carefully she places one hoof in front of the other. Then it happens, a single strong contraction, a single hoof misplaced, a single jagged breath and her world tumbles into chaos.

A surprised scream strangles in her throat as the mahogany mare tumbles the rest of the way down the hillside and lands in a breathless heap. Once again she finds herself thankful for the warm sands of the Dunes. Landing in sand was much easier to manage than it would have been on Atlantis or even Tinuvel. Despite the soft landing, Nyimara is left gasping for air, caught between being winded from the fall and the power of the even stronger contractions that fall one on top of the other now. Gone is her attempt to find sanctuary beneath the shading trees, instead, the urge and need to expel the child from her body overcomes her. Within a mere few pushes, the gulping breaths of the wriggling foal at her bloodied flanks tells the exhausted mare that her child lives. Despite having birthed more than one child into this world, in the wake of her tumble, Nyimara can find no energy to lift her head from the sand to gaze back upon her babe, at least not yet. ”Hush my darling… Give me a moment.” she murmurs to the bleating foal as it struggles to free its knees from the tangled shreds of its birthing sac. Dark eyes close as the witch queen tries instead to focus her attention on slowing her own breathing and regaining at least some of the strength she had lost.