It was Dmitrei’s call which first brought Abigail to rush in the direction it had echoed from. But, like Pagan, once she noticed there was truly no danger at hand, a wide smile forced its way across her mouth. So her son would not see her smiling at his demise, Abigail ducked her head, pretending to have an itch against her leg, and then turned to nudge Dragomir, should he want to go out and play on the ice too.

As for Abigail, she chose to remain on the snowbank and not chance the ice at all. Though she’d lived in Tinuvel for well over a year now (and long enough for her winter coat to have grown in this time), Abigail was still very much the woman who’d grown up among the tropics. Ice was a strange thing to her and she didn’t want to risk falling and hurting herself or the foals at play. She was much more content to smile and watch.

A curious glance was given to the new mare – the one she’d begun to see about with Pagan from time to time – and a small, welcoming smile, too. Abigail loved meeting new horses and was, quite clearly, a social butterfly, but she knew when to give others their space.

**********

When the sky was not a blank slate of ice and wind, Nephilim often allowed his two daughters to accompany him as he trailed the borders of the Bay. Mariael and Maziel enjoyed time spent with him and they had an incredibly close relationship. At time he wondered if it was because he’d never had parents who were close to him if he thus projected it on his daughters, or if the absence of Maziel’s mother made her cling closer to him, or if the loss of his first child had caused him to realize how important it was to be in a child’s life while he had them.

Perhaps it was a combination of all three and then some. Whatever it was, Nephilim did not mind when his daughters wanted to accompany him and often enjoyed their company immensely. He liked answering their questions, playing with them, hearing the sweet peal of their laughter as it broke out over the stale cold of winter. Yet if ever it seemed danger lurked, Nephilim would force the pair to remain with the herd. With safety.

Today seemed to be a relatively easy day and so, in tow, Nephilim had his daughters.

Great cries of laughter and play stalled them each in turn. Nephilim frowned with curiosity, dished face held high and ears pointed forward. Mariael looked every bit of her father – though more suspicious than curious. Maziel looked the child she was supposed to be (if not for the milky white of blind eyes) and appeared more curious, even stepping a step or two in the direction the laughter came from.

“Must be the Inlet herd.” Muttered Nephilim.

“Can we go see, Papa?” Maziel asked, her voice sweet enough to completely liquefy his insides. “Samhain might be there!” Maziel had told Nephilim of the colt they’d met, the son of Pagan, and he knew it would be good for them to make friends with the Inlet horses.

It would be good for him to see Pagan, too. It had been too long.

“Come on.” He replied, smiling at the way happiness blossomed across his sister’s face. Mariael, as always, appeared more guarded than gleeful. Nephilim ducked his head to give her a nuzzle and, when he had her attention, a little wink. She rolled her eyes and snorted but he caught the edges of her mouth fighting to turn up into a grin.

The three eventually came onto the scene and Nephilim bellowed out a whinny to announce his presence as they moved up to the opposite side of the frozen river bank where everyone else was. His daughters remained at his side, Maziel on his left, Mariael on his right.

“Is Samhain there?” Whispered Maziel quietly, ears forward and nostrils puffing little breaths of air, trying to gather what scents she could.

Mariael only said, “Yes.” With a low, firm voice.

Nephilim arched his neck and bumped Mariael, pointing her down the frigid stream where enough snow had gathered that the trio could make there was across the river – not interrupting the icy play – and to the other side where a couple mares had gathered. As though Nephilim was their dam and not their sire, his daughters trailed close at his side; though Maziel was entirely focused on the play with excitement clear as day across her face.

“Papa, can I go play? Please?” She asked when they’d reached the other side. “I want to say hi to Samhain.”

Nephilim frowned, looking at the ice. “I don’t know, sweetheart… it’s slippery…” A concerned father (perhaps overly so), he looked at those milky-white, sightless eyes looking up at him with such hope, it nearly broke his heart.