In time Nephilim would learn to understand Tinuvel and the Bay which he had so luckily stumbled across in a state empty of a stallion left to drive him away. As season by season passed and changed the island, he might even grow to love it, might wish nothing more than to protect its borders and call them his until the day life took away the beating of his heart. Though young (barely set to turn three in a little over a season), Nephilim had known far too much pain. It had been what his life was from the moment he hit the ground, birthed from his mother’s womb. He was tired of the pain. He was tired of thinking over and over in his mind the last words his dam had given to him, of how she had revealed the truth of his creation, of why she’d always wished him dead.

He was tired of it and so, instead, he would soak into the ever busy and important life of a herd stallion – he would keep others safe, he swore it, and somehow in that he hoped to find self-validation. It would be a long road, particularly for one so young, but if he stayed focused, stayed determined…

Lost in a never ending spiral of thoughts for what he wanted to achieved and hoped he might, Nephilim was distracted by the scent of someone new. In this practically empty land it was a strange thing to cross a new scent, most that knew of Tinuvel and refused to live here would never come to grace her shores in winter. Summer, perhaps. Ears pricked and pointed, the golden freckled colt drew a heavy breath in and pushed it out into a bellowing whinny set to echo against the snow-covered peaks about the Bay. He spent much time further inland, where there was better chance for foraging and places to make use of boulders and trees as wind-blockades than he did the shoreline but now he advanced toward it.

It was a mare he saw, black and dripping with seawater, and he wondered what could have brought her here. As always with Nephilim, he glanced to the waters she’d left behind, searching for a stallion trailing after her. When it appeared she was alone he made for her, he slender and sleek (influenced by the Arabian in his bloodline no doubt) whereas she appeared strong, with hair about her hooves.

He moved close enough to exchange a few quick breaths with her before stepping back, away. Though young and gangly, they were on par for height (one day he would grow to be slightly larger). “Welcome to the Bay,” he said, “my name is Nephilim, I’m the lead stallion here.” Confidence was struck in his heart the moment he said it, chin lifting as he swelled with pride. “What brings you to these shores?”