Patrol. Most of Nephilim’s morning and most of his evening before the sun dared slip beneath the horizon was spent on the large borders of the Bay, knowing he could learn most of what he needed to by trailing this invisible line which separated his territory from the Inlet. Those most newcomers came through on the beach, there were other places on Tinuvel and it was just as likely someone could come from inland, perhaps in an attempt to play stealthy in a hope that Nephilim would not be vigilant. So, while he entrusted the herd to forage for grazing in the late spring morning, Nephilim patrolled the borders, creamy white tail flagged at his hindquarters and ears pricked forward. His gait was a bouncing trot, his head dipped to the ground and his nostrils quivering as he drug scents in to his lungs.

Normally he smelled nothing but Tinuvel, perhaps of a stag or a doe who’d passed through in the night, but today there was something different. Different enough that he slammed to a stumbling halt, snorted, and drew a tight circle as his golden gaze swept around the surrounding area. Stallion, intruder. A loud rumble, like a whinny that wasn’t quite formed into a bellow, rumbled behind closed lips as his nostrils flared and his ears twitched, searching for the nearby creature. There was a faint familiarity in the scent, but it wasn’t Pagan’s… he thought he remembered a stallion… a bay… Nephilim snorted, his upper lip pushed outward as he drug in the scent deeper…

Al-Sarim?? It had been a few seasons since their paths had crossed and the stallion would not know Nephilim had come to the Bay, so he couldn’t be seeking him out as a friendly visit, could he? Nephilim only had moments to act, for it was just as likely the older stallion knew Nephilim was younger and therefore knew he had a high possibility of challenging him for the territory and succeeding. As much as Nephilim might hope for a friendly visit, he had to assume it was the opposite, at least for now.

The gold-flecked colt surged toward where the scent was strongest, trailing hoof prints over the ground to follow the path Al-Sarim had taken from the border. As he drew close enough to hear hooves pressing across the ground and caught a sight of deep, dark brown, Nephilim let loose a bellow – a whinny which boasted the age he’d already grown, so much more filled out than he’d been as the youth Al-Sarim had first crossed paths with. Nephilim burst through the overgrowth as it snagged on his hair, taking a few strands with it, and, ears pinned, stopped short of Al-Sarim’s personal space. Head raised, gold eyes flashing, he watched the stallion carefully to read his body language and know whether or not he meant to be a threat.