I must protect my family.

Though it seemed to be real, Nephilim knew it was only a dream. Or so he hoped it was only a dream…

He stood on the tundra, the cold bite of wind stinging at his coat. He was nowhere near the Bay, nowhere near the Inlet; he stood in the center of Tinuvel where the frigid expanse of land stretched far as the eye could see, white snow glittering with wicked purity. In the beginning he was alone, yet an unknown pull caused his gaze to flash to the right of his body and energy seized through him. He jumped, jerking his slightly dished face away as his eyes rolled, surprised to see bodies standing not too far away. A beat of time passed and he turned his ears forward, watching as they came more clearly into focus.

Foals. They were foals. Somehow, he knew they were his.

Sickness turned in his gut, but he couldn’t look away. Nephilim turned toward them, felt the desire to whinny burn in his throat, but when his mouth opened there was no sound produced. One second, they looked to be innocent children, perhaps only a few months of age with wispy hair and curly coats; he blinked and they became the things of horror. Flesh rotting from bone, stripped away in places so clearly, the decay showed the skeleton underneath. They were dead things, dead before he’d known them.

His knees felt weak and as badly as he wanted to look away, he couldn’t. They began to advance, each step in unison as they moved toward him. Fear caused his heart to pound, feeling the distinct feeling of sweat thickening into lather along his neck and in his armpits. He felt hot – too hot to be standing amidst the tundra – and he wanted so terribly to run. To run away from the ugly truth…

His ear twitched – he heard screams behind him. Mariael, crying for Maziel. Before he could turn his head to see if his daughters were okay, he heard sobs to his left and knew – without needing to look – they were the cries of those he’d failed. The mares he’d sworn to protect.

He pulled his legs back and moved from the dead foals who were advancing, fleeing, yet feeling no triumph as he did so. The world was falling apart; great cracks were splitting the earth as black-blue frigid ocean water swelled up between them. He caught sight of bodies – his old herd? – near him and tried to run toward them only to have a wide crack split a great chasm and keep him from doing so. Too wide to leap, the water churning angrily enough that he knew it would take him under if he dared chance the swim. Helpless, he looked to the distant figures of Mariael and Maziel. Maziel had fallen into the angry sea, her head barely bobbing above the surface, her legs slashing in a panic. Mariael paced, screaming for her sister with anguish.

Nephilim started toward them, only to again be thwarted as the earth groaned and cracked and the ocean water swelled up and kept him from his daughters. NO! He tried to cry out as Mariael jumped into the sea, swallowed up with her sister. Tears stung his eyes and poured quickly down his cheeks. He caught sight of movement behind him and spun…

Before him stood two decaying foals, only a few feet away. Between them was a mare… a slightly built, cremello mare with her face dished as his was. Ugly marks marred her body – bruises, cuts…

“This is your entire fault, Nephilim.”

She said, coldly. The fear hit him again with such a sting it felt as if the ice of Tinuvel was inside his heart. Anguish claimed him, with a gasp (choking on tears) he collapsed to the ice before her and his dead children. “No,” he plead, finally able to speak, but realizing his voice was suddenly small – he was a colt again, a yearling. “No… I tried… I tried to protect them.”

“Your fault, Nephilim.” She said again, voice lacking any compassion as she glared down upon him with eyes so blue, they cut through his flesh and burrowed into his heart.

“No… please…”

“Nephilim…”

*****

He awoke with a gasp and found himself staring into two sets of eyes – one milky white and one blue.

“The dream again?” Asked Mariael, ears forward. Her expression appeared stern, though her sister’s (Maziel) appeared concerned.

Nephilim felt exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept at all. He nodded meekly and dropped his head, a sigh easing from his dark lips.

“Papa…” Maziel said gently and moved to stand beside him, surely to offer comfort.

“Did you manage to save us this time, or did you let the sea claim us again?” Mariael’s voice was like a whip, cracking into his flesh and leaving a residual sting. Nephilim’s ears turned back.

“Mariael!” Snapped Maziel, ears turning back as she turned her head toward her sister.

Mariael rolled her eyes and snorted. “Whatever. We’re almost there; I can see Tinuvel from here. We should go now before the tide gets higher.”

Nephilim nodded and began moving forward, avoiding looking at his daughters, even while Maziel drifted close and seemed to want to bump her muzzle against his wither. She didn’t and he was both relieved and tormented by it. He glanced at the faded island lying like a hazy shadow on the horizon awaiting the trio, and wondered what they’d find when they arrived.

He recalled the nightmare which had begun plaguing him (at times the vision of his dam was replaced by those he left behind) and a chill spread over him. He’d encouraged Maziel and Mariael to go to Crossing Isle, live among the mares at the Peak or find themselves a new home, but Mariael wouldn’t hear it. The Bay, she said, was their home. It was his home and he needed to protect it, to make sure it hadn’t fallen beneath a tyrant ruler and to be certain their family (whoever was there) wasn’t being mistreated.

But wasn’t abandonment its own form of mistreatment?

Mariael wouldn’t hear any discussion on the matter… Nephilim knew, though, she had her own guilt to deal with. Half of him suspected she cared little of the welfare of the herd or the Bay, but of her mother. She felt guilty for having left Hollowshank behind, even if she was worried over Maziel’s safety. Over time, she’d grown to blame Nephilim. He imagined it was easier for her to blame him, maybe it didn’t make her hate herself more than was necessary… so he let her.

Additionally… Nephilim felt guilty for how long he’d stayed away from the islands and knew his excuses were weak at best. He did enough of his own self-loathing and in some way, maybe it made him feel as if he deserved any sharp comments Mariael wanted to throw his way.

The time had come to face the music. Cold water rolled from his gold-speckled body as he climbed the pebble shore of the Bay and took a deep breath, ears pointed inland as he watched for anyone who might resurface…