Impa was watching, in her deceptively casual manner, to see how Mouse reacted to both her nearness and her touch and, eventually, he joking. It was good to see the stocky grulla meet her gaze. Impa liked to think Mouse carried herself more confidently as well, and took some pride in that even though it was likely not of her doing. But to see a friend who previously had been quiet to the point of concern, and skittish enough at the presence of a physical confrontation to flee before she could get hurt, made Impa happy. It made her feel like Mouse was recovering from whatever had befallen her before she arrived at the Islands, and she was glad to witness that slow but sure change.

“Well, maybe in time more will come to you. Let me know when you remember the name of that place; I might pay it a visit sometime,” she grinned. It would be worth the travel to see a place where mares were not treated like chattel, and daughters were not forced into a land not of their choosing because their sire wanted to strengthen an alliance— Impa twitched her ears to keep them from pinning, and relaxed her face since her smile had grown fixed. Mouse looked comfortable, and Impa would rather pay attention to her than any of her own problems.

She hadn’t known what she expected from Mouse in response to her teasing, but one thing Impa did know was that the sudden flick of her friend’s ears and the downward glance were not the reaction she was hoping for. She felt a sudden clenching deep in her gut when Mouse spoke, and she had to hold herself still to keep from rushing to the mustang’s side. Every muscle in her body tensed visibly, her hindquarters clenching as if she were going to kick out at a perceived threat, and her entire from end flexed from the effort of keeping still. “Who has hurt you?” she asked, her ears finally pinning, and the hardness in her voice was not for Mouse but for whichever stallion had forced himself upon her storm-colored friend. Impa would hunt him down and beat him bloody for his transgressions against mares, against the Peak, and more importantly against her friend. Her breath came in great, heavy snorts, and her nostrils flared wide to increase her oxygen intake as she struck the ground with one mountain-worn hoof.

It did not even occur to Impa that Mouse might have meant she wasn’t prepared for a pregnancy, or meant something else by her words. Stallions had only ever done wrong by the blanketed mare, and so her immediate conclusion when the grulla did not show any ounce of excitement about her unborn child was that she had been raped. Impa expected the worst of stallions, because that was all she’d ever received from them.