Mouse had once again wandered off without her painted daughter. The yearling was beginning to worry about her mother, though she would never speak up about it. No, the grulla mustang was one horse that Osprey would never criticize. Perhaps she should have, but in reality her mother was whom she knew best and it would be even more foolish to say something that would jeopardize the closeness they shared. Instead, the filly watched the grulla shape travel down the mountainside without an explanation, in the direction of the mucky area where all the men lived.
Though Osprey had never known her mother under any other circumstances, she knew that the little mustang had not always behaved in this way. She was quiet by nature, but this was an almost sullen silence, one that spoke of sadness and resignation to a life she had not expected. Often, the tobiano would touch the dark line on her mother’s shoulder where no hair grew and question Mouse about its origin. However, she was never given an answer. The child had no idea that the mare had been in an accident that stole much of her memories. In fact, the only thing Osprey knew about Mouse’s life before her birth was that she had had a friend, Impa.
Even then, it was only a physical description – to aid in the search for the draft mare – and an insistence that this friend had shown the grulla more kindness than could ever be repaid. The filly wondered if perhaps her mother had gone to look for her friend again, though she had long since given up; it had not occurred to either of them that searches of the other islands might be helpful. To be honest, Osprey found this whole search rather tiresome and often wondered if Mouse were not making the whole thing up in an attempt to keep her inquisitive child occupied.
She snorted, turning away from the ledge where – unbeknownst to Osprey – Anath had often lingered. It was her favorite place, for there she could see the other islands. She longed to explore them, though she knew it would not be allowed for some time. You’re too young, she was told. Wait until spring, when the waters are warmer. These poor excuses mulled in her mind as she walked down in the direction of the meadow that sat roughly midway to the summit.
Upon approaching the lush area, the filly was stunned to hear a strange voice from around the bend. Her steps became wary; who was here? Slowly creeping forward to peek around a boulder, she saw the pair staring out over the crossing. The smaller of the two was marked with white in a pattern very similar to Osprey, but the larger bore a vivid blanket of dots like Morena. Almost instantly, the girl knew who this must be, but she couldn’t believe it – Mouse had told the truth! Stepping more confidently now, the painted grulla emerged from her hiding place. Aside from her amber eyes and the occasional white splashes, she looked very much like her mother; her base coat was the same stormy grey.
Just after the black mare reached her nose out to greet the bay, Osprey could no longer keep herself silent, though she was sure they had already seen her. “Are you Impa?” she demanded, staring straight at the spotted draft. She knew, somewhere deep down, that it was rude to interrupt and ignore the bay tobiano. But the only imperative thing to her at this moment was whether or not she had stumbled upon her mother's lost friend.