Nyimara is indifferent to the others around her. Dark ears remain perked forward amid the mass of alabaster tendrils that twist and coil down the elegant slope of her neck. Paperthin nostrils flare as the desert-bred mare drinks deeply of the crisp, clear waters that continuously flow from the frothing waterfall. None dared to approach her whether out of fear or caution, she could not be sure, but it did leave the corners of her ashen lips twisting upwards into the beginnings of a grin. It was as the world should be. If only those like Solomon could see it this way.
’Well, well…. It seems the gods have quite the sense of humor.’ The crackled voice washes over her skin like rain upon sun-parched earth. In that instant, the memories emerge beneath the thick tangled web of chains that had buried them long ago. Like dust blown from a portrait, she recalls the familiar scent that had led her here to this place. With a scent like fresh cedar and new fallen snow. A scent that mingled musk with the freshness of a wild, northern zephyr, the memory of those vivid blue eyes resurfaced in her heart and mind before she dared to trust herself enough to turn and face him. Bjorn. The tenderness that had once warmed her soul is gone, instead replaced with a coldness reflected in those icy blue eyes. As if by instinct, her dark ears flit backward, disappearing into the curling tendrils of her silvery white mane. Near-black eyes narrow as she withdraws from the water’s edge with the same graceful, calculated steps of a hunting jungle cat. A seductive grin slips into place along her ashen labrums as the fem-fatale tucks her chin tightly against the concave of her breast.
”Quite a wicked sense indeed...” she purrs, her sultry words honey-laced with venom.Fearlessly she closes the distance between them, the renewed urge to press her lithe frame against the warm muscles of Bjorn’s mist and blue figure. It is only the firm glare in his eyes that halts her from that action, instead bringing her to a halt just within his reach. Shamelessly, the chocolate-colored woman ravages him, noting the deep wrinkles of age and the myriad of unfamiliar scars that joined the ones she had created and the ones she had once caressed. Only when she has drunk her fill does she lift her small muzzle to meet his frigid gaze again.
”Bjorn….” she whispers, letting his name hang heavily in the small space that remained between them. The heat of her own breath sent a shiver of excitement coursing through her veins. The excitement that always seemed to arise when those azure eyes met hers. A Cheshire smile replaces the seductive grin in an instant.
”You’ve gotten old. I don't remember you having quite so many lines of worry on your face. You should try caring a little less. Would hate for you to die prematurely.” she quips, her words hanging between amused jesting and truth. An almost girlish giggle rumbles from her breast as she gives her finely sculpted head a shake, thinning the lacy veil of forelock that settled across her vision field. Dark flutes perk forward again as she greedily inhales his testosterone-fueled musk, savoring the excitement as it dances behind her dark, glittering eyes.
”I thought you left the islands behind for good. What happened? Your frozen hell spat you back out? Or am I just THAT irresistible?” she asks, a single brow raising to match the coy expression upon her ashen labrums.