Tithe pulled himself from the icy waves of the sea. Feathered hooves scraped against the stones of the beach as the water rushed around his heels. The frigid winter wind hit his wet body and snow fell on his dark grey coat. Steamy breath was pulled from his lips and nostrils into the cold tundra air. The colt closed his eyes and breathed deep. It was not his territory, it was not his place, he was only just welcome here. But this was his home, where his loyalties stood. He only hoped the Bay held similar feelings towards him. Hoping against hope he lifted his voice to Nephilim, his friend of the past, as he stepped forward.
Nearing two years of age, Tithe’s body had started to fill out. Strong muscles started to show themselves under his pelt. The warrior’s body he had inherited from his mother was slowly starting to work itself onto his frame. But now he still was not big enough, not strong enough, to back up the life changing mistake he was about to make. He could not in good conscious avoid it.
“Nephilim!” He called almost pleadingly into the threatening winds. Breathing deep, he stood tall. He refused to show his fear. Refused to let his mother see that deep inside he was scared about what he was about to do. Would she be disappointed in him for not doing what was needed to be done? Or would she be proud of him for standing for his convictions? What would she think of him asking for help? His dark eyes scanned the horizon of the tundra and he waited. He knew the herd would most likely be in the caves. His heart clenched with a longing to be in those caves. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to stay a distance away. Just in case he was not welcome close to the herd, he would not press his luck and intrude.
Shaking his wet locks from his face, he held his head high. This was his only hope.
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