Nyimara moved with confident ease through the rock-strewn hills of the Desert landscape. Small, fluted ears perk forward atop her skull as near-black eyes scan the serene landscape about her. She tells herself she does not care, that his flippant dismissal of her as his queen (even if she knew deep down that she had deserved it) gave her more than enough right to cast him aside without another thought…..
And yet she cannot.Call it jealous possessiveness or infatuation. Whatever the real reason, Asmodeus is on her mind as the chocolate-colored mare makes her rounds of the borders, searching for any hint of his scent and daring… oh yes, DARING to find a sign of Marceline’s recent passing. She would be happy to remind the red woman of exactly who the desert saw as its queen and the
only one who Asmodeus needed…. Whether he liked it or not. She had a feeling as of late, the latter was true, but that had not stopped him from once again falling to her cunning charms. The proof lay in the heavy swing of her pregnant belly. A feminine voice rings loudly over the distant cries of gulls along the shores. Small, fluted lobes tilt forward amid the wind-swept tangle of her silver-white mane as the witch slides to a halt. Dark eyes narrow as she peers onto the horizon at the distant shimmering seas. Had Marceline returned for
her Asmodeus? No, the tone was far too… delicate for what she perceived as the whine of Marceline’s cockiness.Curiosity piques her interest as for the moment, her search for the chimera stallion is abandoned. Long, lean limbs carry her swiftly across the hard, packed terrain. Her small muzzle lifts as the feral woman releases a call of her own in response. A warning? A greeting? She would leave it up to interpretation. At the very least, she could only hope that if it was some other stray that had found its way into Asmodeus’ bed while she had been away, the feminine response might make them think twice about whatever offspring they had in tow to show off.When finally she does manage to top the last of the dunes that lead down onto the flat stretch of cream-colored beach, the silver-haired witch halts. Keen, black eyes find the bright crimson figure easily enough; a stark contrast to the white-capped waves and clear, azure ocean beyond. Confusion flashes across her gaze as Nyimara stands unmoving for a moment, searching for the small shadow of a foal she was sure would be hiding at the mare’s heels. But the mare is alone. Odd.A loud snort escapes her nostrils as slowly the silvered witch descends the hillock to close the distance between herself and the unfamiliar mare. The flash of color tangled amid the mare’s water-logged mane draws her eyes to the jungle flora which if nothing else, only heightens her curiosity and suspicion.
”You are far from Atlantis stranger….” she purrs, a single brow lifted as the minx arches her neck to let her voidless-black eyes study the crimson woman.
”What brings you to the Desert?” she asks, her tone absent of emotion.