Ears back, short, growing tail swishing at his hind, Nephilim walked the familiar outskirts of the Falls. Crossing Isle had been his home for months now and yet, it was not a home. Luthien, even, he could not think of as a home. It was where he had been born, true. It was where he’d spent those crucial first months after his birth, forced on the outskirts of the herd by his mother who remained there by choice. He considered going there, where she had gone, but decided against it. Thinking of her was only fuel to the fire stoked within him. She was a necessity toward survival and the only other of his kind he knew, but he loathed her. Nephilim had the feeling she felt the same.
A horse walking near him veered too close. Nephilim rolled his eyes and jerked his head up, intending to step away, both ears pulled flat against his poll. Flat teeth scraped against his neck, a little trail of saliva dampening the speckled hue of his flesh. Nephilim squealed, hooves pressing into the soft spring ground as he kept their bodies close, skin bumping skin. His neck turned toward the unknown assailant, attempting to take a bite of his own, tail cracking against his haunches.
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