It was a mare. One of Lyden’s mares? She could have been, for all that Dock knew. A year had come and gone and Dock remained nothing but a ghost to them all. A scent tangled in the overgrowth of the forest. A strange face seen lingering with her sisters during the time in which she’d carried her colt to full term. But never a conversation was carried. Time passed, carried on, and Dock wasn’t physically or verbally abused by any of them. It was strange that she would feel uncertain because of this, but she did. As time slowly trickled by she wondered if these islands really were different. If she wasn’t bound to the same treatment she had been from the moment she hit the ground…
The mare introduced herself. Dock had retreated one small step. So, not one of Lyden’s mares, but a sister. The mare – Sylvia – mentioned the foal and Dock’s ears turned back. They didn’t pin, but it was clear she was momentarily unhappy that he was acknowledged. She thought to turn and see if he’d misbehaved – if he was standing near her flanks. Perhaps she would give him a kick for his behavior – not because she was a tyrant of a mother but simply because first reaction where he was concerned was to harm. It took an alarming amount of self-control to keep herself from doing so. But if she looked back and he was still hiding, Sylvia would know where he was.
Of course there was always a third option. Dock could pin her ears, turn, and dart off into the safety of seclusion in the forest. It was tempting, but unrealistic. She couldn’t stay hidden forever. Eventually they would come for her, if not Lyden or the herd, it would be Dickere. Maybe Hickere. She would be scolded. Forced to become a part of them. Dock wasn’t certain she could stomach such humiliation.
So instead of hiding, she flicked her ears forward. She took a breath and was just prepared to speak when a new form of interruption came. It was a filly – a young thing with spindly legs, older than Nephilim by the looks of her. Dock’s ears turned back again, but then forward. This filly clicking her gums for mercy was granted it without hesitation. Dock had no intention or desire to harm her.
But watching her notice Nephilim – watching her walk into the underbrush and lay where he was still tucked away, nearly had Dock leaping forward to drive her from him. To keep the shame that he was hidden. Hidden from everyone. Her coat twitched, her eyes rolled, and her cream tail cracked at her hindquarters. Another heavy breath. She could do this. She could carry on a conversation; she could leave the unnamed filly to curl with Nephilim beneath the underbrush. She could, she could, she could…
Nephilim blinked lids over eyes so bright brown, they appeared golden. He’d went rigid when the filly found him and didn’t know how to react. The only horse he’d known thus far was mother, and mother wasn’t always patient. The filly had found him, which meant he was no longer hidden, which meant mother could be angry. Nervously those golden-brown eyes found his mother, and he swallowed down a nervous gulp as she looked over at him and at the filly. If he was braver in that moment he might have used his words and told her to go away – told her that she was going to make mother angry. Instead, all he did was shake. It was a nervous tremble, his breath caught as he waited for the gallow to fall onto his neck…
But mother didn’t scold him. She didn’t run over with her ears pinned and teeth snapping. Instead, she turned away. She looked at the other stranger, who Nephilim stretched his neck to see and breathed heavy breaths in the air through his nose, peering under the ferns to try and see them. His head tilted and his gaze swung back to the filly. “I don’t think mother’s mad,” he whispered, as if she’d understand, as if she knew mother and knew that mother could have been mad. A grin climbed up one side of his mouth. Nephilim was happy that mother wasn’t mad. “I was hiding.” He frowned at her. “You found me.” But again, because mother wasn’t mad, Nephilim wasn’t going to be angry with the filly for finding him. He was even a little excited to meet someone else. Someone his size. Mother had kept him away from anyone his size or bigger.
“Dock.” She said, and realized her voice had bit out a bit rougher than she’d intended, as though it pained her to talk, as though she was trying to ignore the little whispered voice at her back in the plants. Her eyes dropped to the ground before Sylvia rather than regarding her face. “That’s my son. Nephilim.” Her stomach rolled. Perhaps it was a blessing that horses could not vomit. “I’m Lyden’s.” She guessed. She avoided him more than proactively sought him out. She avoided him any time his patrol of the forest borders dared near where she was hiding. Yet, still, in the grand scheme of things, Dock supposed that she was his.
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