Could this be where he belonged? He wondered… his experiences with other stallions on Crossing Isle hadn’t been terrible but they hadn’t been ideal, either. Briefly Nephilim remembered the sleek built bay who’d engaged him in a fight, spoken in words that had come across as gibberish and left. At the time, Nephilim had wanted to be proud and play off as though he’d won the skirmish but, as the days passed, he began to wonder if maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he’d lost and hadn’t even known it. How was he to know whether or not he was the successor? There had been no one to teach him these things, no one that had been allowed to. If things had been different perhaps Nephilim could have sparred with the colts he thought were his brothers, or even played about with the stallion he’d thought was his father.

Never had he thought… his head sank as her words played over and over in his head. They might have carried on like a broken record set to drive him into madness, only… “Hey, wait up!” The loud voice cut into Nephilim’s thoughts and he jerked his head up, sweeping his golden gaze out and turning his ears, catching sight of the young stallion moving toward him. It was… a comfort to come across someone his age. Better that than an older stallion enraged with him for potentially crossing some unknown boundary.

Halting in place, Nephilim’s white tail lay flat at his spotted hindquarters and he did just as the stranger had asked – he waited. His nostrils flared as he instinctually tested the air, again smelling the bog and the thick cologne of men. “Yeah,” he admitted, almost feeling sheepish, as though there was shame in being alone here. “I’ve been living on Crossing,” he added, though he wasn’t sure why, as if it made some difference that he’d been on the outskirts of the mingling grounds, driven away by stallions protective of mares in heat or mares with newborn foals at their heels. “I…” What had he really been waiting for? He didn’t know. Nephilim had never belong anywhere and now… go where you belong. “I’m trying to figure out where I belong.” Maybe it was the friendly approach of the other colt or the fact that he was just that, a colt nearer to Nephilim’s age than any Nephilim had talked with, but something had made Nephilim confess the truth.

“I’m Nephilim, by the way.” And his heart ached for a friend.