The urge to snarl her distaste for the obsidian hellborn is hard to ignore. Like a feline facing down an enemy with bristled spine and flattened ears, the witch queen finds herself wanting to do something akin. Lucifer has always known just how to push her buttons even without saying much. Perhaps it was the eyes? The crimson gaze holds its familiar venom, but their time apart, perhaps, seems to have taught the beast restraint. That alone is enough to give her cause to listen to what it is he might have to say.
’...Salem is harsh on older bones…’ The confession causes the firm curve of her ashen lips to twitch. The beginnings of a cocky smile strain against the tight hold of the stoic grace the exotic mare fights to maintain. The glitter in her dark ooid speaks volumes. The words that remain trapped behind her closed labrums…. She KNOWS. The sands of Salem have always been a harsh mistress, rugged and wild. The strongest of horses could find themselves as bleached bones if they do not learn to adapt and grow with the sea of sands that surrounds them. It is part of what drew her to the Desert and the Dunes in the first place. Where horses like Solomon had seen Salem as a desolate wasteland… Nyimara saw it as home. Salem built her. Like a diamond in the rough, the bitter sandstorms and shifting dunes carved away weaknesses and soft edges until what was left was the glittering jewel that stood before him now.
’...If you can strike a deal…. I’d consider relinquishing the Dunes…’ This time her curved flutes twitch, threatening to snap back against her skullcap once more despite the languid boredom she tried to keep in place. The cockiness of her smile shifts ever so slightly. ”My, my dear Lucifer… It sounds as if you are beginning to feel your age. Finally seeing that Salem does not suffer the weakened fools?” she purrs, laughter edging her words. ”Why?” The blackness of her depthless ooids deepens as the humor disappears from her voice. ”Why should I consider doing YOU a favor? What would I gain by once more being surrounded by my enemies?” She hisses in disgust.
Deep down, she wants to. She WANTS Salem back and to feel the dry, arid warmth of the desert wind as it swept across her back. She missed the fragrant aroma of pomegranate and fig trees in bloom or the way that the malleable sands cracked under her hooves on particularly frigid mornings. Atlantis might be home to her sire and brother, but she never liked the humid thickness of the jungle. It was merely a means to an end at the moment. That was her mantra for now.