Snow was fun but snow was also silent. It muted the world, especially when it fell and collected on the earth. Right now the rust-red filly coaxed a wet crunch from it with every press of her toe. She liked the chill in the air and that she could see her breath, and she liked that she could leave her mark on the world for all to see. Someday, perhaps, she’d do it on a much grander scale. Imp was absorbed in her solitary game and new thoughts of world domination when a nicker broke her loose concentration. She raised her head and flicked her ears forward, eyes bright and nostrils flaring as her gaze landed on a boldly painted filly.

Imp didn’t know how long Impa had been gone —likely no more than a few minutes, but lost in the white space that had been her thoughts it seemed like hours— but she was glad for more company all the same. The chestnut girl wasted no time in scuffing through the snow that separated them to thrust her nose at the young mare. “I’m Imp,” she said. “I’ve seen you a couple of times, I think. How long’ve you been here? At the Peak?” She’d definitely seen Osprey at least twice before now. Having spent the majority of her life thus far with her aunt and her aunt’s sister, Imp had only recently decided that meeting the other mares on the mountain was a must. She was delighted that Osprey had beaten her to it.

Of the other horses on the Peak, Imp had only met Michonne, a speckled buckskin mare just a little older than herself. She knew there was at least one more mare on the mountain, but the lack of a large herd and the fact that very few of them stayed together (or near Impa and Jezibelle) had deterred the chestnut filly from going out to make her own introductions. She was of the opinion now, however, that more company was better. Imp shook out her mane and grinned at her new companion. “You ever seen a guy? There aren’t any here and hardly anyone talks about ‘em. Why’s that, do you know?”