Falls

The last few seasons since Marceline’s daughter took control of the Desert have been a blur to the silver-haired witch. Warwick had been welcoming to her and the remnants of her meager herd, but Tinuvel was not a cushion to the desert-bred mare. The warmth of the sun never seemed to fully seep into her bones and left the chocolate woman in a constant state of aggravated frustration. And she was not alone. Kara was quieter than Mattheo in her grumblings, but even the stormborn desert mare could not hold back her frustrated remarks. And Nyimara did not blame her. Instead of charging forward to challenge the spotted Mazikeen for the return of her throne, Nyimara took the cowardly way out. She had taken the weak way.

Rougaru would be rolling in his grave to know that even months later, she remained in Tinuvel, licking her proverbial wounds. And she knew that. But it had still not been enough to push her to action.

It wasn’t until her brother’s battered form washed up on the shores of the Cove that Nyimara felt the beginnings of her fires again ignite. Seeing the silvery stallion move listlessly through the tundra grasses with looks of longing in his distant eyes had finally done as the gods designed. Seeing him, seeing herself IN him, it fueled her to action.
With promises to Kara to return, Nyimara set out with Annubis. The least she could do for her brother is to see him home, especially considering he was the reason why she was finally taking action.

The swim to Atlantis had been uneventful, despite the obvious tension that rolled off the sterling stallion in waves. Nyimara took advantage of the swim to consider her options and weigh the pros and cons of her next movements. Racing off to Salem to reclaim her throne seemed like the obvious choice. In her younger years, it might have been the decision Nyimara took. But while she had her own share of tricks in battle, Mazikeen had youth on her side. Regardless of what Nyimara wished to believe, her own mortality was beginning to creep closer to the forefront of reality. She was aging and her body was beginning to proclaim its protest.

It was more curiosity than anything else that drove her towards the Shore. As much as she voiced her hatred, a part of her ( the part hidden deep in the dark recesses of her soul), missed Asmodeus. The warmth of his solid shoulder and the way the ocean seemed to forever cling to his scent had always been a balm to her. His stoic authority and the driven fires she had awoken reminded her all too much of her first love. And while Bjorn might never return from his beloved northlands, Asmodeus held the islands in his blood. He might wander, but never for long.

Finding his scent stale in the Shores was…. Disappointing. However, it did give her a distinct advantage that she had not before considered. Annubis held onto Paradise with a fierceness that mimicked her own love of the Desert. However, with Marceline sitting haughtily on her high horse in the Hills, taking back the Desert and subsequently pulling Salem itself into her grasp seemed a monumental task. No doubt were she to rush to battle against Mazikeen, her mother would come to her defense. And if she did manage to win, that still once again left her surrounded by her enemies. That alone is enough to make her lay claim on the Shores. With any luck, maybe Asmodeus would decide to once again show his face. If not, at least the news would no doubt irk Marceline. The Shore had been her home at one point.

Feeling more and more confident in her decision, the silver-haired witch decides to return to Tinuvel to collect her herd. At the very least, Kara would be grateful to return to some semblance of warmth and bid the biting cold and snows goodbye.

Instead of taking a direct path straight back to the Cove however, Nyimara decides to make her way through the crossing island. With any luck, she might find a lone straggler or two that would welcome the opportunity to find a place among the islands. By chance she revisits the Falls, the last reminder she had of Bjorn. She hoped to linger a few moments, to soak up the memory of her viking lover after the disappointment of Asmodeus’ absence. What she did not expect was to come upon her enemy.

Time has affected the obsidian stallion in much the same manner as it has no doubt affected her appearance. Raven-tipped flutes snap backwards against her skullcap as nostrils flare paper-thin.
Lucifer.

The very sight of him draws tension to her muscles as he turns to gaze at her with equal disdain. Not one to back down from the beast, Nyimara lifts her head proudly and takes a step forward. She might not have intended to quench her thirst here in the Falls, but by the gods now she would; if only to prove to him that she was still the fierce Queen she had once been.


’.....Nyimara, I understand we have bad history…’ the words he speaks draws a scoff from her closed lips. That was an understatement. Since their very first meeting, everything between her and Lucifer had been filled with animosity. The distaste between the two had always been clear. ’...I do have something to bring to your attention…’ Her eyes roll dismissively, but curiosity has always been one of her less favorable traits. ”I HIGHLY doubt that there is anything you could say that I have not already considered, Lucifer….” she begins, flicking her alabaster whipcord dismissively against the supple curve of her hips. Hooves shift beneath her slender frame as the woman settles into a more comfortable position. ”But do go ahead. What is it that you wish to discuss?”