His muzzle bumped Foxglove’s, exchanging breath as a happy smile easily turned his lips at how pleased she was to cross his path. Yet, when his gaze flicked to Firethorn, he saw something very different – she was guarded, watching him, refusing to extend her muzzle toward him. Nephilim faltered, just slightly, and he knew then that Firethorn at least had been in attendance during the spectacle at the Prairie. He’d hoped they’d been gone, perhaps having greater adventures somewhere, but it felt as though his stomach dropped and irritation crawled beneath his skin. How little any of them knew…

Very quickly, Foxglove spoke, and her happy exuberance was enough to steal away his worried pause, the sight of her smile enough to make him return the gesture. “Ah, I… live here.” He blinked and glanced about them, as though checking that they were in the boundary of the Bay, and then returned his gaze to her. “I claimed the Bay last winter.” He was proud to say that, to say it had been half a year and he still had the territory to his name. He was no longer an awkward, nervous colt lingering on Crossing Isle, having to push himself to engage in social interactions. He was finding his place here, and the confidence was growing within him.

“I could ask you both the same thing,” he said, gaze returning to Firethorn, wondering again… how much had she seen? Would she ask? Would he be willing to tell them the truth? Would they believe him if he did? He looked at Foxglove once more. “What are you two doing on Tinuvel?”

Maybe it was for the best that the cream mare and her guarding stallion (who he now recalled was the stallion Foxglove and Firethorn had said was their father) did not know he was on Tinuvel, elsewise he might have never been able to see the sisters again. But surely they hadn’t come just to see him; they didn’t know he was here… so why, he wondered, had they come all this way?