When he arrived in the midst of winter with a coat not grown The dimness of the cave swallowed them whole, but a horse could see in the night and Nephilim was not scared. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the shift in lighting, and remained near the entrance with the glow of late spring/early summer at his back. Ears trained on Dances, Nephilim watched the younger stallion as he moved off, and on him he saw exhaustion. It reminded Nephilim of his own first time climbing up the shores of the Bay, when the wind had cut through his skin and grabbed at bone beneath the flesh, chilling him through and through. How exhausting the swim had been, fighting the roll of angry waves, and how further tiring the winter of Tinuvel was… stepping in to the cave, with its walls blocking the wind which howled outside, had been a godsend.

Within minutes the young stallion was sleeping. For a moment, Nephilim lingered. He was vigilant and prepared for any sort of trickery, wondering briefly whether the colt meant to play at sleeping so Nephilim might let his guard down or if he truly was tired. After a few seconds crawled by of Dances breathing the light rhythm of sleep, Nephilim came to the conclusion that he had nothing to fear of this young stallion. He truly was as he said he was: a wanderer who needed a place to stay, just for a moment.

Nephilim glanced back out to the white brightness of the world and sighed walking quietly back out, leaving the cave and Dances at his back. The young stallion was capable of defending himself if it came down to it, Nephilim was sure. He wasn’t far off, either, if he called out, Nephilim would be able to return in a short amount of time.

The palomino splattered stallion was absorbed by the light outside the cave, leaving the dimness to wrap warm arms about Dances as he slept away what weariness had clung to his soul.