They expected aggression. They expected to be met with barred teeth, kicking hooves, and pinned ears. Mariael and Nephilim’s previous expressions of pride and immovable nature shimmered for an instant. In Mariael’s eyes was confusion, but in Nephilim’s there was concern. Mariael was born in the Bay and her year spent away from its shores had been what she might consider the worst in her short life thus far. Never again did she wish to be away from its harsh climate and she did not understand those who actively chose to live away from such a place.
Nephilim had washed up on the shores of Tinuvel a wet, confused, thin-coated yearling in the midst of a blizzard. He understood the clicking teeth, the body-seizing chills, and the overall discomfort which came from standing on Tinuvel’s beach and being unaccustomed to the climate.
“You’d… give it back?” Mariael attempted to retain her proud nature, clearly trying to step away from the confusion which crept in the belly of her tone. Shortly after confusion came suspicion. Mariael would never hand over the title to a land and couldn’t fathom why someone else would offer it so simply. “What kind of help?” She asked next, head still raised high and eyes piercing down at him.
Nephilim glanced from his daughter to the red stallion and then further into the island. The Bay’s best kept secret for those severely unaccustomed to the harsh climate lay beyond the trees and though it was a hike, it may do this stallion well to rest there. Nephilim knew better than to speak of it, for this was not his home to lead in its entirety anymore. Mariael was queen and he would respect however she wished to carry on this conversation. For the sake of the shivering stallion he hoped it carried on quickly enough so he might find what little reprieve he could garner.
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