With Marceline hiding behind the veil of the vast sands of Salem and Mattheo’s warning that the red woman was attempting to spread her wings once more, Nyimara did not dare venture far from the Desert. She knew that she would need to venture to the other herdlands and proclaim her intentional rise to power, but she still needed to decide exactly how best to go about it. Although Sigurdr had led the Badlands, his scent had long since been replaced by one that she could only vaguely pinpoint as familiar. Not blood by any means, but familiar… and that would prove to be problematic.

Knowing that Marceline is using the Hills as her foothold, that left the Dunes as the only other alternative, and given her history with Lucifer, she can only imagine what type of mood her presence in the Dunes would bring. Diplomacy might as well fly right on out the back window. The initial dislike between the pair was nothing akin to the outright hatred that emanated at the very mention of his name.

Speak of the devil.

As usual, when the bastard crossed her mind, an instant distaste filled her mouth. Raven-tipped ears snap backwards beneath the wind-tattered tendrils of her silvery white mane as the sound of his guttural bugle resounds over the rising zephyrs. Near-black ooids narrow as immediately, the Desert Queen is in motion. She does not bother to respond to him with a voice of acknowledgment; he did not deserve the courtesy. Instead, the coffee-colored mare wastes no time in closing the distance of space that separates herself from the borderlands that the Desert shares with the Dunes. Only when the black beast comes into view does Nyimara slow her pace to a more manageable, graceful gait.

Long, glossy serpentine arches protectively over the broad concave of her breast as the hot-blooded woman comes to a prancing halt just beyond Lucifer’s reach. Dark eyes remain suspicious as they gaze up at him from beneath the thick veil of her alabaster lashes. ”At least you remembered what the borders look like this time.” she purrs, her voice honeyed poison. ”What do you want, Lucifer?” She all but growls, anger thruming through her voice as the pale-haired mare shifts impatiently.