He deserves better. Three words which Nephilim’s dam would never speak on his behalf, choosing instead to be overcome with fear and disgust every time she’d looked upon a child who couldn’t help how he was brought into this world. It touched Nephilim, though he knew better than to say so, that Amaranthe would think that for Tithe. If he might have known that Amaranthe had doubts as to her mothering skills he might have laughed and spoken every reason why she was a great mother, but Nephilim didn’t have a clue. Instead, the silence settled between them as he reflected on the way he’d been raised and Amaranthe became lost in her thoughts, both adults quietly watching the colt as he played down the shoreline.

When the mare sighed and spoke, Nephilim’s ear turned toward her and his gaze followed, paying attention to whatever words she spoke. “No,” he said, “I’m not.” It was strange still to realize he wasn’t, when the essential years of his young life had been spent utterly alone. But here now was tangible proof that he no longer only had his own company to keep. He had at least one or two others who were in his corner, ready to fight on his behalf.

Nephilim reached (though stretching the bruised muscles on his neck made him wince, just slightly) and bumped his muzzle to her shoulder, his unspoken gratitude given. He turned away then, limping further inland to find somewhere he could nurse both his physical and emotional wounds. He wasn’t quite ready to linger around the herd just yet, though he wasn’t feeling as interested in isolating himself completely as he had been before.