He relaxed the moment Amaranthe spoke. It may have been visible, how the tension eased from his muscles, but Nephilim distracted himself from the obvious by looking instead at her leggy colt. Strange to think just three years ago he’d been the very same way, only Nephilim had been forced to grow up too soon. Isolation had been the first couple months of his life and then, like a tease, he’d been so close to socialization, to other foals, other mares, and even a stallion he might have looked up to, but any time he’d tried he’d been driven away by the mare that birthed him.

Nephilim’s ears turned and his gaze snapped back to Amaranthe like a rubber band as she spoke of Tithe’s sire. A greater man than his father could ever dream of being. Again, he glanced at Tithe, and the question burned like fire on his tongue, turning his intestines to a snake, turning and twisting and becoming a knot in the pit of his gut. He was sure now, more than ever, that Tithe and he shared more than Amaranthe knew. But, given the fact that they stood with the young foal and Nephilim still held back from prying too deep, knowing it would mean he’d have to bare his own soul, he didn’t pry.

The turn to Amaranthe’s tone helped keep him from saying anything too personal and a grin twisted on Nephilim’s mouth. “Keh,” he uttered, “yeah, I’d like to see you try.” His gold eyes flashed, but it was clear he was only teasing, the smile growing wider as their eyes met.