Mouse was not kept waiting long. Soon after she had called out, she heard the familiar scraping of heavy hooves upon the rocky path. The sound was more urgent than usual, but it was unmistakably Impa that approached. No one else here was as heavily built. The dim lighting partially concealed the draft as she neared, but the white that graced her rump stood out clearly. Mouse looked out over the crossing, where here and there she could make out a paler horse. For the most part, though, everything was shrouded beneath the partial darkness; she observed the land only to avoid having to immediately look Impa in the eye.

Though she had heard her friend coming closer, it still startled the grulla to hear her name aloud in a voice other than her own. Turning her head to face the draft, Mouse struggled to keep an even expression. She succeeded until Impa apologized – then, her pleasant mask crumpled into a façade of hurt. There were many things the mustang doubted in the world, but the sincerity of the apology – even though it was short – was not one of them. Despite how hard she tried to think of what to say, no words immediately came to her. It was as if they, along with her distant recollections of a past life, had fled from her mind. Silently, she looked up into her friend’s apologetic face and wondered how long they could stand there, neither saying a word.

After some moments standing like this, Mouse took a few small steps forward and met Impa’s nose with her own. Pulling back to look thoughtfully into the black mare’s face, she hesitated and looked away for a moment before asking the question that had been stuck in her mind for a year. “Why did you leave?” There was no accusation in her tone; it was a soft question, seemingly of pure curiosity. Yet in her mind she hoped that the draft would have a valid reason she was willing to share.

Instead of generating more words or questions, Mouse’s mind was churning through her history with the draft; all the way from the day they’d met to where they were standing now. Most of the focus was on their last encounter before this evening – when Impa had announced that she’d gone after Styrke and stolen from him a mare and a daughter. Then, she’d probably seemed as indifferent as she had looking out over the crossing not so long ago. But if she had learned one thing from her friend’s absence, it was that she was not in the least indifferent. The little mare owed Impa a lifetime of gratitude for her willingness to be an advocate.

With that realization, Mouse stepped forward again to rest her forehead comfortably against the solid shoulder of her dearest friend.