He survived winter in Tinuvel. Perhaps it was best he’d come to the snowy island at its worse season, for he’d learned to live in blizzards, discovered where hot springs were nestled in his mountains, and learned the best ways to huddle behind large stones and trees to use as wind blockades. Every other season after this would pale in comparison to the trials and tribulations he had lived through this past season. Plus, Nephilim was growing. By the end of this season he would be reaching his third year and the muscles beneath his coat were developing, helping him slowly fill out to the agile, sleek stallion he would one day be. Not only that, but with the responsibility of a herd, Nephilim was also learning more about himself than he had in his previous years of life.

He’d just finished trotting along the northern border of the Bay when he heard the call, loud and long, echoing over the dished in beach that most newcomers swam to. It was the easiest and closest accessible to Crossing and Nephilim learned that would be where he would need to be most vigilant for wandering strays. Of course, newcomers weren’t all bad; he briefly recalled the day Amaranthe had climbed from the shoreline. She was a strong mare, good for a newly made herd stallion to have. Nephilim appreciated her presence in his herd, even if he’d yet to say it and may never actually do so.

A loud bugle answered from his lips, a commanding sound, one that demanded the waiting horse remain where they were. Nephilim kicked up his hooves and started toward the beach, neck arched, chin bent to chest, thin legs striking out as he came from further inland and moved onto the beach. It wasn’t as impressive as a display as it would one day be, but his body language said all that he didn’t need to say with words - I am the king here and you are the trespasser.

He pulled up short the closer he got, a hard snort exhaling from his muzzle before his gold eyes narrowed on the figure. It was a young colt, hardly a threat, but Nephilim mentally reminded himself that he’d just barely been a little past two years old when he decided he wanted a herd. “Welcome to the Bay,” he said, dished head raised as he walked to meet the strange horse on his beach, “what brings you here?” If he were not here to fight, perhaps they could have a more amiable conversation. On the contrary, if Nephilim detected any ill-wishes, he’d do his very best to drive the colt right back into the sea.