She felt empowered, discussing how to improve the name of the Peak with her sisters, but the strength that filled her following Shira’s words was cloven in two by sudden impact of a nose against her shoulder and the harsh snap of Anath’s voice behind her. It cut the air like a whip and coiled around her heart, tugging on it with an abrupt and harsh squeeze. The blanketed mare jerked away from the toothless attack and turned to stare at the golden General in disbelief. Her ears turned outward, then back as Anath continued to speak, the gravity of her words weighed down by the use of Impa’s full name. Her eye shifted away so the mare could not see the hurt in her expression, and were caught by the movements of Mouse as the gray mare took refuge from the brief scuffle under the shelter of the trees. Impa wished she had the liberty of retreating to the Forest. She was on her own now, and could not afford to hide from the confrontations she wished most to avoid.

They were joined by another mare at what was perhaps the worst possible time, with the General’s current mood and Impa’s rising anger. The draft mare kept her mouth shut, but did manage to turn her head and offer the newcomer a slow nod of welcome as she forced her emotions down. As her head came up from the nod, she felt more clearheaded, and she took a deep breath as she prepared to voice her welcome to the spotted mare of ash and snow. But it was Anath who spoke first, slinging profanity and rage through the air like rocks tumbling down the mountain. The General had moved, and with her last words fading on the air, she left them all at a gallop. Impa watched her go. Her whiskery lips were closed in a thin line, their softness marred by the wrinkling of her pressed mouth.

After Anath’s thundering hoofbeats had faded, Impa returned her attention to the three newest mares of the Peak and lifted her ears. Her eye rested on Shira for a moment before glancing over at Mouse. This meeting had taken an unnecessary spiral downward. “I must apologize for the General.” What she was apologizing for, Impa could not say. She would not excuse the mare’s actions with false words. Anath was free to do that herself. “Welcome, Giselle. I take it you have resided here before? You may call me Impa,” she said, her lips loosening and curling into a smile as she addressed the stocky mare directly. Impa was aware her hindquarters were still clenched, and she forced them to relax. Perhaps if Mouse saw her return to a more comfortable position, the quiet mare would rejoin the group.

“So, Shira,” she said as her dark eye returned to the other draft mare, although she spoke loudly enough to include Mouse. Giselle, being a daughter of a former Peak mare, likely knew how things worked in the mountain herd. “There are three alignments among the Vulcans. You may choose whichever suits you best. We’ve the Thinkers, mares who excel at stealth; the Politicians, those whose strength lies in compromise; and the Warriors, mares who protect the Vulcans with their hooves and teeth. Obviously all of us are capable of any of these things when we must be,” she said with a small laugh. “But if you would prefer one title over another, that is your choice. Leadership here is determined by vote.”