Mariael’s wounds were nearly healed now. In the cold of Tinuvel; with snow piling along the ground and clinging to the branches there were times the muscles were uncomfortably tight. Because of this, Mariael attempted to keep most of the herd near the hot springs, for even where the water ran under rock and through the mountain, the cave walls stayed warm and it was a comfortable place to be. It was imperative in the increasingly worse weather the herd remained together and so, in spite the few of her queensguard she requested patrol borders, Mariael continued to make certain they never strayed far.
Of course with scattered resources there was a time or two among the trees it seemed a herd mate disappeared completely. With not one but four full grown equine dedicated to the protection of the Bay’s family, it was unlikely anyone could fall under serious harm.
Mariael grazed with Maziel – well, grazed in the sense at pawing ice and fresh snow to get to the wisps of dead grass lying underneath – and found herself enjoying an otherwise peaceful day. Her father, Nephilim, was near as well, though likely remaining close to one of the three mares he had within the Bay (particularly the two she believed had growing bellies and would likely produce siblings for her in the spring).
It was then she heard it. Mariael immediately assumed the trouble must have come from the Inlet and would be sure to scold whoever she’d asked to patrol the border that morning for allowing them to slip by. “Stay here, Maziel.” She said firmly, ears flattening against her poll as she started forward. At her movement, Nephilim moved too, hyper sensitive to the way his daughter lowered her head and charged forward.
Together they burst onto a scene neither of them expected – a strange stallion attempting to drive Rohanne from the herd. Mariael was angry someone threatened a family member of the Bay; Nephilim, however, was enraged. Screams tore wildly from their lungs like bellows breaking an otherwise calm atmosphere. With ears flat father and daughter stormed down onto the stallion, both seeing red, both feeding off the other’s wild energy. Mariael simply wanted the buckskin gone, pushed into the sea as he had wanted to push Rohanne (and should the storms of Tinuvel make the dark, cold sea wild, all the better should he drown among its surf); Nephilim felt a rage like no other, a protectiveness for Rohanne which drove him forward.
In unison the pair broke off, Mariael charging for the buckskin’s left and Nephilim charging for the buckskin’s right. Mariael attempted to make a wide arch so she might avoid being kicked, but drew close so she could stretch her neck and attempt to gather any wrinkle of skin she could grasp (or even hair to tear would be satisfactory). Nephilim mirrored his daughter, but veered close enough to shove his shoulder into the buckskin’s as he reached up and snapped toward the stallion’s face. Regardless of how they attacked or where, the duo was relentless.
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