When recognition crossed the silver mare’s face, Impa’s lips curled up in a smile. “Yes!” she said. “I remember that.” Her gaze turned inward as she remembered their meeting with fondness. Those were the days she missed the most, when she was her father’s little girl and he had cared about her. Bitterness choked her momentary happiness, and her expression fell at much the same time as Zombie’s did. She was glad when her friend —for she considered the mustang exactly that— spoke again.

Her words, however, were not reassuring. For all his shortcomings, her father was a proud stallion and devoted to his herd. For him to walk away from that responsibility and leave the mares he had protected completely oblivious to his whereabouts did not sound like him at all. “Mazurka?” Impa said as Zombie trailed off. And then, “No,” she breathed. Not Mazurka. The closest horse she’d ever been to besides her father. Mazurka was her mother in every way but blood, and she’d never been able to tell her so. She had never thought to tell her, never thought there would come a day when Mazurka wasn’t around anymore.

Impa’s head hung almost to her knees as she clenched her teeth together to hold back the sorrow that bubbled like sludge inside of her. It was thick and vile and she wanted to spit it up, all of it, but she couldn’t. She pinned her ears. Her own petty grudge against her sire had been no reason to avoid Mazurka as well. But she thought she had more time...

The black mare swallowed and lifted her head. Her dark eye was hard and she knew her grief would overcome her if she allowed herself to dwell on it. “Her daughter? She survived?” she said. “What is her name, Zombie?” Impa took a deep breath and expelled it with a violent snort. “And do you know where she is now?”