Nyimara stands silently on the highest dunecap, her near black eyes casting a sweeping gaze over the vast expanse of her kingdom. Salem had welcomed her with open arms and the Dunes continued to allow her to thrive and condition herself for the coming future. The time to make her move was drawing closer. Evrain made certain of that.

He had been testing the waters in their last visit, stepping deeper and deeper into unknown pools as he inquired if she still felt certain that Salem needed a single monarch and all but proclaiming his intention to be such a monarch. Of course he would not have known that such an intention had been her own all along, but nonetheless, she kept her intentions carefully guarded. It was not time yet. However, now that she had the old wolf backing her corner (as if she ever thought he would do otherwise), she felt more confident that it was time to make her first move.

An impish grin slides across her ashen lips as the silver haired witch turns her gaze northward where far beyond the horizon of Dunes made gray by the late evening haze, the Badlands stood strong with Rafe and his band of misfit mares. Deep down, she hoped that their last heated discussion had been enough to dig into the brindle stallion’s hide and maybe cause him to have his own heart to heart discussion with the son they shared. Cato had such potential… such promise and yet it was being squandered away as he gamboled about like a child or stared for hours at a time at his handsome reflection in a pool of water. The day he left her side she had secretly been grateful if only to stop her from strangling him herself. Perhaps it was time to see if Rafe had done any better with the boy. Maybe then the potential threat to her supremacy could be established.