Amusement gleams in the deep dark color of the Desert Queen’s gaze as she meets the dark mare’s rolled eyes and hum of incredulity, unabashed. In another time and place, she had little doubt that this mare’s fire and spirit would have drawn them close. However, Teagan’s determination to defend the likes of Lucifer is…. Unappealing to say the least. Why the black bastard deserved such loyalty and devotion from the smokey mare is beyond the Queen’s understanding. If the Dunes King had actually done something worthwhile, Nyimara could perhaps see the reasoning behind it.
The sarcasm in Teagan’s reply causes the mahogany woman to chuckle as she switches leads to draw alongside the pregnant mare, brushing her obsidian shoulder lightly with her own as she leads her towards the oasis.
”Oh yes little sparrow, I do believe he whispered promises of a bright future and undying devotion in your ears. I firmly believe he warned you with that same badboy smirk that leaves inexperienced fillies defying their parents for a freedom that never comes.” she purrs, the venom lacing her words evidence of a past she had long ago buried beneath layers of armor and chainmail. Yes, she had once been that inexperienced filly. She had once listened to the false promises and hoped and fought for a future… for a dream that had never been her own. At least, it hadn’t been hers in the beginning. At what point Bjorn’s aspirations had become her own, she is not rightly sure. But it happened. Back then, Bjorn wanted Tinuvel…. Wanted to be King of the North. He let her fight his battles but never seemed to be standing in the throne room when she offered him the crown.But the Desert has always been in her blood. Rougaru had stolen her mother from a land of sand and salt air, far from the islands and any mainland nearby. Nyimara spent most of her youth trailing behind her sullen mother and adventurous father as the mare spoke of rolling seas of sand and endless skies. It wasn’t until her own hooves first touched down on Salem’s soil that Nyimara felt as if she had finally found her place. Salem might appear to others as a wasteland, a patch of earth that welcomed none and instead tried to kill its inhabitants at every turn. It made those who dwelled here fierce and did not welcome strangers with open arms. Salem was not so unlike herself.
’He meets my requirements…’ the admission causes Nyimara’s ears to tilt back in displeasure. Ash dusted lips press together in a firm like as a scoff of amusement blows through her nostrils.
”If he meets your values, then perhaps you are not the mare I imagined you to be.” she smirks, flicking her unusually long tail with the same idle slowness of a hunting cat. Finely dished muzzle points to the cresting hill of sagebrush that stretches out before them.
”The water here is freshest and often cool even on the hottest of days. You would be wise to drink from this oasis and no others. Standing water is not always safe to drink.” she advises. Nyimara does not necessarily reply to the mare’s question. There is no need. Nyimara is not stupid enough to share her secrets with someone who is not fully devoted to her own hopes for the future. However, that does not mean she won’t share her own wisdom of the lands, especially with a pregnant mother.