He finds her just as easily as a hunter would, but he lacks the stealth that one would have.
From afar she could hear the droning noise of something being dragged across the dry dirt, the scraping sounds like nails in her ears. Her skin flinches as though pelted with flights, but it’s the grating of flesh and feathers against earth. When she turns to face him Nayl is slow and deliberate, almost expecting. Her critical eyes find him and she picks him apart until their gaze levels onto one another. She can still see his crowning horns but it’s his abysmal black eyes that draw her closer. Inch by inch she creeps toward him until they are more comfortably space, their internal fires blazing in one another’s company.
”I’m Nayl,” she offers, intent to spread her name across Beqanna, ”and I take it you are the king?” He is proud, dominant, lustful. There is an air about him that he has conquered something great, something he has wanted. Nayl glances over her shoulder toward the dust and murky streams before looking at him again. She takes interest in how he carries himself, how his fathomless eyes drink her in like nectar. Nayl is not a temptress; she doesn’t carry herself with enticing smiles desirable eyes. A sudden pang of discomfort reminds her of the miles she has traveled on an injured shoulder. There are a couple cuts, but never anything to fret over. Fresh and covered with a layer of debris Nayl carries signs of being a soldier and there are still so many years still in her.
A warrior queen, but more. She will reign with an iron fist; she has seen the curiosity, excitement, and worry in the eyes of her peers. Either she will simply be strong, or she will be dangerous.
Their time alone is brief, but Nayl shows no inclination as to whether she preferred their solitude to company. Indifferent, her gaze flickers to the russet male as he introduces himself. He, too, carries a deep hunger, and she can sense the tales that he has locked deep inside. ”Nayl,” she repeats her name, flat but not unkind, before footsteps growl against the earth from behind her. Stillwater’s scent has clung to her and although she sensed his presence she never acknowledged it until now. A moment passes to grant him time to reach her. Contently, he settles not far from her side and roves his eyes across the stallions. ”And this is Stillwater,” she adds with a feeble, lopsided grin. Of everyone gathered in Nerine, it was he that she least expected to accompany her, but she doesn’t complain.
”We are from Nerine, just north of here,” she indicates the miles expanding behind her, ”and are just branching out to see what lies beyond our borders.” Because she is unafraid and she is bold to face this new world and new rulers.
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