Mother. Would there ever be a time in Nephilim’s life where such a word did not strike deep-seeded, personal hatred? Likely not. Both ears turned back immediately, his thin limbs shifting, hooves crunching the frozen ground beneath them. He would not say anything, because it was a sensitive topic and he didn’t feel like delving into what had brought him in a rage from Crossing, but surely the reaction was enough. It could either be approached once more at another date if she were so curious or left behind, allowed to be swept away on bitter, icy winds.

Names were given to him, along with the information that he’d been correct in assuming this bay mare knew more of this terrain than any. Fly, the lead mare of Soljor’s forgotten herd, and Hollowshank. Nephilim’s gold eyes looked to them both, lingering just briefly on the younger of the two, having caught her brief kind expression just moments before. Were they alone he might have had a smile to share with her, but they were not and he was freezing, and it seemed Fly had the answer to that.

Nephilim followed behind the pair of Tinuvel natives, thankful not to push through snow as Fly did, at least not now when he was hardly prepared for it. Even the winter coat that had grown in when Crossing Isle approached the season was nothing compared to the harsh climate Tinuvel was in. Up the path a bit Nephilim’s gold gaze was drawn again to Hollowshank as she spoke to him, his ears forward as he heard her inquiries. “No, I haven’t been. This is my first time ever visiting Tinuvel, even.” He answered, truthfully. He had not a clue where he was headed when he’d taken to the sea in a rage but now something akin to stupid determination and a need to prove himself was probably going to keep him here. “I came from Crossing Isle,” he said, omitting completely the fact that he’d been born on Luthien and grew up there for the first few months of his life… before death had come and his dam abandoned him to his own company.

The trio reached the caves and Nephilim could not stop himself from sighing in relief as the stone walls blocked the wind from raking against his wet skin. He turned his attention to Fly now, curious of her just as he was curious of Hollowshank. “Why stay?” His voice was somewhat softer.