It hurt that Mouse would not immediately meet her eye, but Impa did not hold it against her friend. How many times had she repressed anger and disappointment when the golden General returned, the roiling emotions replaced with forgiveness more slowly each time Anath played her disappearing game? That this was the first time Impa’s own lack of presence in the Peak hurt someone did not mean the pain and hurt would disappear. It would linger, subconsciously, and arise again the next time Impa metaphorically fell off the face of the mountain. Never again, never again, she promised silently as Mouse’s gaze moved to her face, and blank, stark hurt bloomed in the grulla’s eyes.

Impa tried to take solace in the fact that Mouse reached out and touched noses with her. It was better than she had expected, and it held the promise of forgiveness to the blanketed draft. She tried to think of something more to say, but everything that flitted through her mind sounded like an excuse for her disappearance. She pulled her head back into her own space and let out a low breath. But Mouse spoke before the draft mare could, and Impa found herself still at a loss for words.

There were many reasons for her absence, and none. Perhaps it had all been because she wanted her sire to know she had her own herd, one without the oppressive “guidance” of a stallion, and that Kisei’s plans for her hadn’t worked out after all. Or maybe it was to confirm for herself that her family had truly left the islands, and that the black stallion who had sired her was truly gone from the Forest and all the mares she had known as a filly had gone with him. Impa drew a breath to speak, still uncertain of what she was going to say, when the pressure of Mouse’s flat forehead against her shoulder coaxed a deep exhale from her.

“My mother died,” she said, surprising herself. “Not... recently. I didn’t know until months before you arrived. And even then— it must have been years.” Impa pressed her teeth together, lips drawn in a tight line against them. She debated, then gave in. “I can’t give you a definite reason. I wanted to find my father, my family, to confirm what I had been told. But they are gone. All of them.” The one bloodline she never thought to see disappear from the Islands had. Impa was the last. She turned her head away from Mouse with a snort, and her dry words were laced with bitterness as she added, “One would think that after a decade, it wouldn’t hurt so much to not find my father.”

But it did, because Impa could remember his deep, reverberating voice and the way he smelled, and the light in his eyes each morning after he’d greeted the sun. HIs actions in the past had hurt her, and deeply, but always Impa had assumed they would reunite, reconnect. She would forgive him. And that chance had been stolen from her— Kisei had vanished, and none knew where he went.

“I met Osprey,” Impa said, pulling her thoughts away from her own past, wondering if her explanation would be enough for Mouse. “Briefly. Flashy coat, but she moves like you do.” This last she offered with a crooked smile.