Nymeria

Girlie. Nymeria's ears slide back, knitting tightly to her knotted mane. Her nares flare, disapproval lining the spread of her nostrils, and her eyes roll, a slick and slippery cascade of gory red and crimson. Girl! What an arrogant ass—to presume her innocence, condescend upon her with verbose and crude language. The latter part of her adolescence had been spent schooling herself; did that not qualify her as beyond the naive idealization of foals? It wasn't a mother, nor father, who forced her muscles to grow and sharpened her wits and fought every step for her survival; that was her, that was Lilómiel, fighting upstream lest they be swept back to the ocean whence they came. As if! As if she had the luxury of a soft bed of meadowgrass and a stream to sing her to sleep; as if she had a night where she could sleep in peace, without fear of being devoured. Her heart wrenches in rampant disgust, snake-like heat circumnavigating the contours of her arteries, but her face grows ever cooler as her blood warms, a mask of neutrality to disguise her own wretched misery.

Maybe he'll choke on his own phlegm, she prays; maybe he'll be floundering in his own bodily fluids, and finally realize how a few years of life didn't—shouldn't—make a difference in the way you treat lowlifes.

We all die anyways.

"I'm young, not blind," the skull-faced queen proclaims, one sculpted brow arcing upwards in a testy hyperbole of her disapproval. Her eyes settle on his nostrils, on the rejected mucus of his body, tracing [arrogantly so] the strange contours of his foreign body—and then her calculating gaze snaps back to his face, to his sky-blue eyes. Slowly, caustically, she props up a hind hoof, the subtle hint in body language disparaging. A low and lazy smile quirks up her lips. "Have you any missions to complete before dying off?" Perhaps I could help; "if you do, I would be glad to assist you. I wouldn't want you to be lingering with unfinished business."

The pegasus' attention slides by her; Nymeria sidesteps, aiming to catch his favor once again. She's not exactly certain of what she's doing—but I'll figure it out. It wasn't like she was a child anymore, at least, not in her eyes. Soon, the time would come for her to a make a move in her mother's name.

And she was going to succeed.

"You're unusual," the equine offers helpfully, lips peeling into a smirk. Lilómiel's amusement echoes her sentiment, and he shifts again, scales rustling over the ice. In the darker depths of his mind, the areas obscured by his half-hearted battlements, there is a glimpse and gleam of emotion, a thrill of hunger for the spotlight. And she can relate; because this, this hunger, this need, for attention is what drives her to block the pegasus' path, stall him with empty trickery. Regardless of her black's wants, her needs came before his; she, after all, was the one without a mother. She was the one without a brother.

Lilómiel was lucky enough to never had had them before they were ripped away.