Desert

I'll give you a reason to live;
Or drag you to hell in the process

NYIMARA

It is no wonder that she should be the one to find him first. A twisted humor of the fates to breathe life into the recent memories of Bjorn and the ambitions that had never been shared. She blamed them on Tinuvel, on her conquest of the frozen island, and the hauntings that always seemed to materialize in the early morning haze that drifted through the trees. She had ulterior motives for striking her deal with Solomon to be sure but she would never admit to anyone how real those hauntings felt as she chased the ghosts of her lost lover and their children through the dark forests.

Of course she would be the one to find him… and recognize him instantly, even in the near pitch of night.

The storm had awoken her from slumber late in the night. The red-sky promised at dawn a warning to her early that it would come. Despite only a handful of clouds at dusk, Nyimara had tucked Cahyr into the sheltered alcove of stone and towering Ghaf tree to protect his growing form from the worst the weather had to offer them. Contently she had settled at Asmodeus’ side (his devotion as appealing as the attention he fixated upon herself and their child). Quinn would have some work to do if he ever wanted to keep her favor. Together they whispered of plans and chaos, watching as the streaks of lightning broke the dark night in flashes of distant light.

When sleep had finally trapt her, Nyimara could not be sure. Perhaps it was the warmth of Asmodeus solid shoulder pressed against her back or the peaceful lull of nightbugs rising to greet the base the distant thunder provided. Whatever the reason, the bright blue-white lightening followed closely by the fierce roar of thunder draws her to consciousness. Cahyr awakens with a start, his small form trembling as he scrambles to his feet and tries to leap across her with a startled squeal and eyes rimmed white in fear. The silver-haired mare lunges to her hooves in just enough time to knock him back onto his rump before he can flee headfirst into the storm. Yellowed teeth bare at her youngest as dark ears disappear beneath the thick, water-logged tendrils of her mane. ”NEVER let fear take ahold of you so easily!” she snaps, meeting the boy’s angry features as another flash of lightning illuminates his face. ”Fear will bring your death Cahyr, remember that.” she murmurs, her voice softening slightly as she stretches forward to press her muzzle into the curve of his neck as the colt draws away in embarrassment and anger.

A knowing smile tugged at her dark lips as she shook the worst of the deluge from her coat and turned her attention to the rain-drenched desert around them. Asmodeus had left them at some point in the night, no doubt to pick up his own patrol or bring his sister to heel once more. These days she tried more and more to linger closer to the border and if Nyimara’s plan to plant Fell on the Tinuvel throne and under her control was to work, she needed Kohelet and her children carefully watched and away from prying eyes.

With Cahyr sulking behind her, Nyimara watches as the storm rolls over the Desert and quickly disperses, leaving behind trickling streams of water on the sunbaked earth. As the first light of dawn begins to light the sky, the chocolate-colored mare draws away from the sheltered alcove and her now slumbering child to investigate whatever damage the storm may have caused. Lithe legs keep her upright, even as her hooves slide through thick patches of clay. Here and there, cactus and occasional trees have been broken or uprooted but for the most part, the Desert has weathered the worst of the weather as it always does. Unbending. Unbroken.

The witch queen makes her way down to the beach, passing through the high dunes of malleable sand until the hard-packed beach greets her with open arms. Debris from the storm littered the beach before her with large piles of driftwood and seaweed dragged up from the lagoons and shallow waters surrounding the island. Crumbles of coral and rock protrude from the white-capped waves as Nyimara allows herself to take in the aftermath that grows more visible as the purple and lavender hues warn of the approaching sunrise.

However it does not take long for something else entirely to draw her gaze as she cast her glance further down the beach. Movement draws her lips into a firm line, dark eyes narrowed in suspicion as the shadowed figure draws in sharp breaths. Tension builds beneath her sleek skin as the silver-haired queen moves with purposeful strides towards the prone figure… until it hits her.

Beneath the salt of the ocean air and the damp unfamiliarity of distant lands, she recognizes that scent.

Her hooves stutter a step as she slows her progression to allow her near-black eyes to trace the familiar dark blotches of skin and that silver-blue hue of his skin. Even coated in wet sand, she remembers the lines of black and alabaster color of his face and tail. Her son. Her eldest. ”Sigurdr…?” The name falls from her lips in both question and apprehension. Was this yet another game the fates played to taunt her mind? He had fled to the north hot on his father's heels. He was not here. He could not be here.

Dark ears lace backward and then forward again as the chocolate-colored mare gives her head a sharp shake before fixating again on the weary form of her son. Silver-white tail lashes audibly against her heels as the mare comes to a halt, near enough to see each line and detail that age has added to his muscular body and yet far enough away that should the fates emerge some gruesome creature from beneath the wolf’s cloak she would have the space to force it once more into the sea.

She peers down at him now, her ivory lashes blinking slowly as she exhales an exercised breath. A single brow arches. ”You have returned?” It is once more a question and a statement itself. Did this mean Bjorn too had returned to breathe life to long-dormant memories? Was Skogsra here? She had not seen the girl since she fled with fire and anger once more alight in her heart. Was that how Sigurdr knew where to find her? Was he here to bridge the gap? Become her son and not that of a man with false promises?

So many questions plagued her thought, muddling together in their desire to find voice first that Nyimara could not help but to stomp her hoof in frustration if only to find a moment for Sigurdr to answer....

silver bay // witch queen of the Cove //
Played by WolfieG