BANE doesn’t know what to make of the Peak or the world around her. There’s something about it that’s so strange and so beautiful all at once. Anath has told her countless times not to call her momma… all the other kids call the ladies that they follow around momma. She’s been left to puzzle over that, her mother wandering off again. The filly couldn’t tell you what was going on.

What she could here were the voices of other mares on the other side of a small rise. This was where the gawky creature made her way, ears flickering forward. There’s a note of delight in the way the filly moves, closing the gap without much proficiency. She won’t grow into her legs for a long while now.

Before the creature can open her mouth, Anath is sweeping around the last bend with more pep in her step than Bane has ever seen.

The amber mare’s mouth is open before her daughter can fuck everything up. The mare is convinced that the little white lie concerning the filly’s parentage is worth telling. ”Impa!” Bane has never heard the woman exclaim anything. It was clear that the older mare was more attached to the blanketed creature than her daughter, at least to the little one. Resentment.

”Hi.” Bane has to get a word in. She can’t let them think she’s mute, but it’s her mother’s spotlight. Anath’s quick glare sideways is enough to silence her. ”You’ll have to excuse the child. Anyway, how’ve you been? I see you’ve brought a friend.” The words are quick, silvery, as she diverts the attention from the filly. The general’s tone isn’t necessarily friendly, but cool, calm, and confident. It’s perfect.

All Bane can do is stare around at the group that’s gathered. There’s the champagne, the one that’s dragging her around as if she’s some sort of handbag that can’t necessarily be forgotten about. There’s a blanketed woman that her mother likes better than her. There’s a blue roan that she can’t place a smell for—tracking is in her blood, and this would be her first lesson to herself.

How weird.