“Luthien.” His tone was blunt, and he’d said the word as though he was throwing a stone, casting it to sink in the space between them. Maybe he’d meant to speak it, not to interrupt the colt as he spoke, for the moment he said it a look of private distaste danced across his face before he settled his features once more. “Your… well, she swam for Luthien.” He couldn’t say it. That word that burned in his throat. Mother, mother, mother… There were no such things for Nephilim, a young boy starved for a concept he couldn’t grasp only to have everything spat like poison back into his face.

In spite of his resolve to stay a firm, formidable stallion against the youth dripping with saltwater, Nephilim felt himself waver. He remembered, before the last time she’d resurfaced from the sea, when the cream mare had left him standing at the beach with a warning not to follow. He’d watched her swim for Luthien and spent months driving himself sick with wonder as to why she’d have gone there and why he wasn’t allowed to follow.

The colt changed the subject and Nephilim was privately thankful for it, given his resolve to not think of the mare who’d, just a season ago, laid the truth of his abomination before him. “Nephilim.” He said quietly when prompted. He didn’t know the meaning to it or if it had one. He wondered why she’d bothered giving him a name if she had thought to kill him. For all he knew the name was something horrific, demonic, and he had not a clue. It wouldn’t be surprising, but rather a metaphor for his life thus far, after all.

Nephilim knew he should tell Dances (or Wolf) that he could not seek comfort and hospitality here. While not uncommon for two herds to share one territory, given they were so expansive and safety was in numbers, Nephilim still was not certain enough on his hooves to decide whether or not he should share his borders with another stallion. So, any wishing to linger should likely be driven out. Yet those gold eyes of his hesitated on Dances and he thought of his own plight, twice having to watch as she was lost in the ocean tide, and sighed just softly. “Yeah, yeah, come on.” Nephilim wondered briefly what Amaranthe might think to see him cave to the young stallion but quickly pushed the thought away. This was his territory and if he could do whatever he wished with it, including dealing with the consequences at a later time. “There’s some caves further inland, they’ll block the wind and help you dry out.”

He turned to lead Dances up the shoreline and further inland where they would meet the forest and wind about trees, thick and sturdy. His ear twitched and he frowned, just briefly. Touched by the sun? Nephilim had never been told that before and he wondered if it were a proper way to describe him. He supposed, with his white coat splattered by gold, it may be physically accurate but it certainly did not cover what it was that was inside him. “They call this the Bay, we’re on Tinuvel.” He answered, “I’ve heard it’s at its worst in winter.” He cast a sideways glance at his company as they made their way toward the western caves which he knew would be empty, as that was where he’d spent his night before. “Have you been to any of the other islands?”