“A few,” he replied, “the closest to the Bay are these, there are some further inland and some a bit to the north. I’m sure there are others.” He’d quieted his tone as it carried in the cave and he’d learned if you talked too loudly it would bounce back against the rock and yell into your ears. It was always a peculiar relief to become submerged in the dimness of the cave, for the wind to stop clawing at his coat and to only be left to whistle, lonely out in the open space. “There’s some to the west as well, but as I came near them I smelled wolves.” It must be where they’d chosen as their den during the hard winter. Nephilim wondered where they would go once it cleared. Did they pace all of Tinuvel or were they only a nuisance to those of the Bay? He didn’t know yet, but it was another thing to be mindful of. Predators were not just stallions looking to drive a young stallion from his hope of a kingdom.

His gold gaze (the brilliancy of the bright hue subdued by the lack of light in the cave) was on Amaranthe again as she spoke. His ear flicked, thinking of fighting the stallion against his border and how exhausting it would become to know his neighbor was a threat as well. It was likely, but he privately hoped it would not be so. It was difficult enough keeping a watchful eye on the shoreline of the Bay, waiting to watch a stallion rise from the surf to challenge him, Nephilim despised the thought that he’d need to be just as wary of the border running along his terrain. If he were lucky, his neighbor would feel the same.

“How old were you when you first fought?” He asked, having noticed the scars on her coat and, listening to her talk, knew without a doubt that she had a mind for battle.