The sound of hooves against the rocky ground drew the girls’ attention. Firethorn lifted her head from where it rested across her sister’s neck, while Foxglove reluctantly peeled herself away from the faint warmth of her companion to look in the direction of the sound.

The figure of another horse appeared in the distance, making its way towards them. As it neared, the girls could make out its bold gold and white colouring, and as a frigid breeze swept its scent towards them, recognition flooded their memories. Nephilim.

Firethorn’s expression hardened slightly, suspicion creeping into her mismatched eyes as she watched him draw nearer. What was he doing here? Out of all the places they could have wandered through, this one had to include him. The girls hadn’t seen their companion since the day he had been chased from the Prairie by half of the herd, the reason for which was still somewhat of a mystery to them.

Valentine had refused to tell them the whole story, despite Firethorn’s persistent pleading, on account of it being Dock’s business. Foxglove had been mostly too distressed and confused to try and work the whole thing out, but Firethorn had wanted to know. Evidently something had gone on between Nephilim and the pale mare who was usually so quiet, but nobody would explain. Most of the herd had begun to believe that he had been attempting to harm Oswin, but the fact that their sister seemed equally distressed by her family’s response made Firethorn doubtful.

And so she was guarded, watching him carefully as he approached. She didn’t yet know whether Nephilim was actually at fault, but she didn’t know whether she could trust him either.

Foxglove, on the other hand, was quite ecstatic to bump into her friend again so unexpectedly. She had been quite distraught by the way her family had so undeservingly – in her opinion – treated him. How could they have been so cruel? His gaze flicked towards her, and her pale lips split into a wide grin.

“Nephilim!” she exclaimed excitedly, taking a step closer towards him and offering her nose in greeting.

Firethorn stepped forwards beside her sister instinctively, though her gaze remained firmly on Nephilim and she did not offer her own muzzle. Foxglove shot her sister a brief glance, trying to tell her not to be so cold.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, turning her attention back to Nephilim with a smile.

foxglove && firethorn
LIKE TWO ATOMS IN A MOLECULE, INSEPARABLY COMBINED