Nephilim’s dished face gave a slight bob, nodding in agreement to the words which Pagan spoke. “Agreed.” He commented, thinking on any battles which may grace his borders and how thankful he might be for a mature stallion at his side to help him fight. Two, after all, were better than one. Plus, Nephilim had lived on Crossing Isle for near two years, he’d heard the gossip which drifted about the isles and he knew emptiness was a plague on most, which kept islands from holding strength in unity. If he and Pagan continued to stand on the same page which they seemed to, the world would learn not to trifle with the residents of Tinuvel. The promise of strength uplifted him within.

Nephilim refocused onto Pagan as he replied to his previously asked question. “Middle of winter,” he replied, “I didn’t know it was Tinuvel I was swimming for.” He would have died, too, if not for Fly calling to him, leading him from the icy blizzard winds and into the cave where he could dry and warm himself. “It was a rude awakening.” He joked, a bit of a wry grin on his dark lips.

“Simple curiosity,” he replied, easily enough, “I’m learning Tinuvel as she changes and was curious if my neighbor had any more experience than I did… are you, not from the islands originally, then?” Nephilim, born and raised on the islands, never having left them, found the concept of worlds away from this one quite intriguing, though he felt no hunger to seek them out himself.