The trio-colored stallion is the first sign of life to move.

Instead of drawing away from her searching gaze as he so often seemed to do since his arrival in her territory, the pale faced stallion approaches. Dark eyes follow his movements as he rumbles his greeting, mahogany ears tilt backwards in acknowledgement though dark lips still remain pressed tightly together in silence.

He continues his approach, pausing a few paces from her reach. At any other time, she might have taken offense, might even have made comment on the fact that thus far, she has yet to lash out at him directly or intended to do him bodily harm. Perhaps it was the early morning or maybe the hormonal rise of her emotions. Regardless, she remains still as he comes to a halt before her. ’Queen Nyimara?...’ she could never fault him for his manners. Despite the little amount she has learned of this Luthien stallion and his family in the prairie during his time here, some mare has taken quite care to ensure that he maintains a sense of decorum and manners. Finely dished head tilts towards him as pale lashes blink slowly over near black eyes, a single arched brow encouraging him to continue on with what clearly weighed heavily on his mind. ’...why..’ it was the same question he had posed to her when she first brought him to the Dunes as a captive nearly a year earlier. She had brushed his question off then; turned the conversation around to expectations and demands for obedience. He had thus far never broached the subject again but now that he has, Nyimara cannot see a reason to deny him such a simple request. Especially since he has remained long past his captivity.

The shrug that rolls from her shoulders is simple, but powerful in meaning. Lean muscles tense beneath her dark coat as the agile queen shudders her skin and releases an audible exhale. ”I like pretty things.” Truth. The silver haired witch was a vain creature, one determined to be the center of attention regardless of the circumstances that led to it. Although Bjorn would always hold a special place in her soul (the unattainable), that did not stop her from trying to surround herself with devoted followers and handsome lovers meant to throw her offspring of great potential. Hence the reason Quinn remained her demon king. A wolfish grin slides across her dark lips as she tilts her head towards him, flicking her long silver white tail idly against the supple curve of her hip, ”And you just happened to catch my eye in passing. Why would I not want to bring you home with me? Let you explore the world instead of remaining cooped up and hidden away behind the wild grasses of the prairie.”