Nephilim walked the shoreline, white tail streaming behind him, hooves making indents in the dark, grainy sand beach. The dark water of the ocean rushed up and left little trails of white froth in their wake just near the line he walked. One good wave might send cold water splashing over his fetlocks but if he minded, Nephilim didn’t show it. Instead the gold-flecked stallion kept a steady pace, testing the brine of the salty air and any other scents which lifted to his nostrils.

Even having relinquished his position as leader of the Bay to his daughter, Nephilim still carried on his usual acts of patrolling the Bay’s borders and checking for any increased predator activity. Mariael had pleasantly surprised him at her request of a guard of sorts, a group of equine who’d dedicate themselves to the safety of the Bay and its herd. It was easier, she pointed out, for multiple horses to cover such a great expanse of land than it was for one. Nephilim couldn’t (and didn’t want to) argue with her point and had happily agreed to be the first of the guard. Hopefully as (if) more members came to live with them again their numbers would grow and he’d have all the more reason to keep everyone safe.

A disturbance in the sand made him focus more clearly, noticing hoof prints in a trail which led away from the beach and toward the shrub and forest inland of Tinuvel. The Bay was the first entry point to the terrain, pointing directly across from Crossing Isle and the easiest way for newcomers to arrive. From mere prints in the sand it was hard to differentiate friend from foe, so Nephilim turned inland and trailed the path toward the new arrival on the island.

His ears flicked as the voice called out and, when he rounded a crop of spruce trees, noticed the buckskin mare who he hadn’t seen before. He was curious and offered a rumbling whinny so she wouldn’t be thrown off-guard when he came around from her back left. When her attention was on him, he spoke. “Welcome to the Bay. My name’s Nephilim.” He paused, studying her for the moment it took to finally reach a comfortable distance for carrying on a conversation. “Are you lost?” He only asked because not many wanderers chose Tinuvel for their first excursion – though he supposed it was best she’d come in summer, as late autumn and winter were not friendly on travelers.