True to prediction, the russet Arabian does not leave her call unanswered for long.

Raven-tipped flutes perk forward at the distant sound of his bugled reply and the tiniest of smiles curves across her whiskered lips. At least things were going as planned… thus far.

Chipped hooves cock against the malleable sandy Dunes as Nyimara places the mask of diplomacy across her dished features as the petite woman waits patiently for the hessian to join her. The last time she had seen the chestnut Arabian he had come to her. Like the polite politician he had come to inform her of Antares departure and his rise in the ranks, a move that she herself would probably not have done. Honestly, she would not have even thought to consider it. If there was one thing that described her best, it was rash.

Nonetheless, setting her sights on the Dunes for the first time in years, Nyimara cannot help but feel the first twinge of regret. It had been a rash and angry decision she had made when she sought to recover the Desert after the old wolf’s passing. She hadn’t thought much about the seas of sand she was giving up then. Staring out across them now, the lithe muscles beneath her glossy chocolate coat tensed with the desire to tear headlong down the ever-moving slopes. The arid winds just seemed to blow differently here than in the desert. Don’t get me wrong, she loves the Desert with just as much fierceness; however, there is simply something about the Dunes and the memories made here that call to her. Freedom.

Movement in the distance catches her roaming gaze as the copper stallion materializes from the red sands. Patiently she waits, a genuine smile curves across her lips as he closes the space between them with effortless strides. ’Nyimara….’ her name rolls off his tongue with ease. Maybe it is just the heightened season getting to her, or perhaps it is the lack of physical contact she has been victim to as of late. Whatever the reason, the admiring roam of his gaze and the husky tone of his voice send a shiver of pleasure coursing through her already heated veins.

His remark on the passing of time earns him a gentle chuckle. With a motion that both parties know is mere show, the silver-haired woman dips her own finely dished muzzle, dark eyes peering up at him from beneath the thick veil of her pale lashes, ”It has indeed Helios, I should have come and visit you again sooner.” she purrs, flicking her long whipcord absently against her hip as she shifts a step closer, extending her charcoal muzzle towards his own in the age-old greeting between friends. ”The Dunes have flourished under your tentative administrations though…” she begins, retracting her fluttering nostrils to raise her keen eyes to the small herd milling loosely like ants on the distant dunes. She gazes back at him, her smile softening ”It is good to see, truly.”