Nyimara is livid. The damn boy did NOT listen once again! Anger and frustration mingled with the still present mingle of Bjorn’s musk upon her flesh. Dark ears are invisible, hidden beneath the twisting coils of her silver-white mane. Damn them ALL. Stallions, grown and child were no better than stubborn mules. Why she thought somewhere down the line things might change or that she might be able to coddle some sense into Cahyr is beyond her. Ashen lips peel back to reveal blunt, yellowing teeth as a wandering loner attempts to intercept her path. The witch queen had no patience for cordial conversation. Not when her damn son was lost somewhere on the island. Or, at least she hoped somewhere on this island.
He HAD been rather determined that he could continue to Salem when she first commanded that they would pause here to rest and recoup their strength before finishing the final leg of their journey. Thinking back now, she remembers how proudly his head had lifted despite the weariness that had lingered behind his blue-green eyes. Defiance. Yet she had been so lost in re-discovering Bjorn’s long-forgotten scent that she had not even realized it until now. Until after the fog had cleared and memories that should have remained forgotten were once more sore wounds oozing within the confines of her breast.
”That damn boy!” she snarls, stomping her forehooves down onto the brittle leaf litter in frustration.
”I will skin him alive when I get my claws into him.” she mutters, more now to herself - her voice holding a deadly softness to it that might have given anyone overhearing her words little doubt of her intentions. A frustrated huff escapes her nostrils in a blast of hot breath as the chocolate woman pauses, carefully measuring her breathes in an attempt to calm the rising storm of emotions that brewed within her.