Nephilim’s ears twitched the moment she said Pagan’s name. He did not trust this mare in the same way he had trusted Pagan. The moment the stallions had met they had expressed an understanding of Tinuvel and a need to see to everyone’s safety as a whole, recognizing the brutality of this island and how it would turn against a single horse in a second. Perhaps this mare (who had not said her name), being new and having come in summer where the weather was fair, didn’t yet understand how cruel the autumn and winter of the north could be. Nephilim thought of speaking and explaining this, of mentioning how crucial it was they meet on mutual terms and agree to look out for another, but before he could gather his thoughts, Mariael was speaking.
“Hopefully we will.” She said, but her voice did not sound warm or encouraging. With her head still raised, Mariael watched the other mare, the older mare, with a prideful look in her eye. Why should a non-native to Tinuvel be allowed to rule over it after having just arrived? Mariael had been born of this place, she’d only been half a year old when she was tucked into the caves as the wind whistled, the temperature dropped so low it hurt to breathe, and the blizzards turned the world white. Her eyes narrowed.
Nephilim knew his daughter well. Never once had he left the side of his girls and they’d accompanied him frequently on patrols when they were younger. An uneasy feeling rose in his gut and he pulled his gaze from the mare and toward Mariael, his ears flicking. A worried look crossed his golden eyes.
Mariael was still watching the leader of the Inlet.
“Tinuvel will be a monarchy in which I will reside as queen of this island.” Her voice was level, but her eyes were searching, waiting to pin the moment the mare thought to challenge this decree.
Nephilim’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly in surprise. He frowned and spat, “Mariael!” In a hushed voice, a slight reprimand, a warning this was not how Tinuvel should be run.
Mariael ignored him. She’d always been prideful and now it seemed that particular trait was shining forth on bright display. Her tail snapped at her hind and she lifted her head higher and peered down the long plain of her face. “I was born of Tinuvel; it is my birthright to rule this island. Should you disagree, we will fight.”
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