Nyimara does not miss the furious glares that the silent mare shoots in her direction; matter-of-fact, she revels in it. The cold fury in Lucifer’s eyes as the mahogany woman escorted the dark spotted mare away from the Dunes was pleasure enough to leave her almost giddy. The black bastard continued to bring the Desert Witch’s ire down upon him by turning a blind eye to her bid for power. She had come to him when he first took the Dunes from Helios with every intention of rubbing elbows. It was he who attempted to snub her nose in the sand, and well, Nyimara never claimed to be the most forgiving of souls.

The trip back to the Desert is ultimately uneventful. Chocolate colored ears flick back and forth amid the silken tendrils of the mare’s silvery white mane as she listens out for any signs that they are being followed. She would not put it past Lucifer to attempt something so underhanded as trying to bury a dagger in her back. Yet much to her relief (and perhaps dismay if she were being candid), the obsidian stallion remains in the rearview mirror where he belongs. It is only when the pair crosses the border back into the Desert that Nyimara allows herself to begin to relax.

Although the dark mare kept quiet for most of the journey, it is now that she deems to turn and face down the witch with hard eyes. ’...Now what?....’ she asks, her tone even and devoid of emotion. ’...and what do I call you?...’ The questions draw the silver-haired woman’s near black gaze. A coy smirk plays across her refined features as Nyimara tilts her head slightly. ”Now you get to relax and rest with the rest of my herd near the oasis. I’m sure you will find the sights and grazing here much better than anything the Dunes had to offer…” she begins with a light-hearted chuckle. ”As far as what you can call me….” she continues, the smirk growing into a knowing smile. ”I’m sure you have your fair share of thoughts on the matter, but my name is Nyimara.” she purrs, her unusually long whipcord lashing lazily against sleek haunches. A single fluted lobe tilts as the mare shakes her head, ridding her vision field of the veil of lacy forelock. ”What is your name, little bird? How did you come to find your wings clipped by a stallion like Lucifer?”