Desert

Rhaena had learned early that her family held many spots in the anarchy that was Salem. She'd learned of her sire's parents, Rafe and Marceline. Rafe was king in the northern reaches of the desert island. And her grandmother, Marceline, had once been queen of the very land they inhabited. She knew better than to ask her mother about the history of Salem, she was tight-lipped and short-tempered when it came to matters of family. Of course, despite any attempts by Rhaenys to prevent it, Rhaena had become just as skilled at eavesdropping. It was how she'd learned her grandmother on her mother's side was Nyimara, a mare she'd heard whispers of. The yearlings adventures outside of the Hills had led her to many places in Salem and the mainland, but it had not taken her to Nyimara's doorstep. At least, until now. The Desert was their neighbor to their left, a place that Rhaenys never lingered. She'd make excuses that border patrol was not her responsibility and would busy herself with moving the herd to a better place to graze, as far from the border as she could. Anyone that knew anything about the queen understood and did not push her, Rhaena herself being one of them. But that did not mean the young princess was immune to curiosity.

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

And so Rhaena stood at the invisible border between the two territories. Her dark eyes scanned the ground, the way the hard cracked earth of the Hills gave to sand as it led into the Desert. She'd never feared trespassing or exploring, and today was no exception. She cast one more glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching before she stepped over the imaginary line separating her home from her freedom.

She leaped into a loose canter, testing her hooves over the unfamiliar dunes of sand. Despite growing up in the Hills she was remarkably surefooted as she crossed the Desert. Even as the sand kicked up all around her, Rhaena was seemingly unaffected as she continued. From a distance, despite the pale of her roaned body, she moved and looked just as young Rhaenys once had when she had crossed the Dunes. Though Nyimara's home had changed since Rhaenys was a child, the imagery was almost eerie and reminiscent of all the times mother and daughter had raced across the sand. Finally Rhaena slows to a walk as more sand kicks up around her, obscuring her almost entirely into a silhouette, as she approaches someone in the distance. Perhaps she would be chased out for trespassing. But she had to know. Why did her mother want to keep Nyimara a secret so badly?