It took every ounce of her willpower to keep her composure when the other mare spoke. She lost it for a moment and stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the blanketed girl whose mouth was dumping sounds that were supposed to be words, but she recovered quickly enough where anyone who blinked might’ve missed the expression. “Uh. No, you’re quite right. I think I’d have remembered you, too,” the draft mare replied, her head churning in an attempt to keep up with deciphering just what exactly it was her companion was saying. All of her mental focus narrowed in on the tall pale mare who’d wandered up her mountain, and it was with relief that Impa banished all other thoughts from her head. She could not afford to be distracted by her own problems right now.

“Saiba? Satiba? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Your accent is unique, to say the least.” Impa grimaced at herself, the apology in her expression and in her tone. “This is the Peak.” She laughed and tossed her nose at the mountain that surrounded them. “This land is home to any mare who dares to call it so. You’re not trespassing, not by any means. You’re more than welcome here.” But the blanket. Where did she get the blanket? The thought wriggled its way into Impa’s mind before she could squash it but she kept it to herself. Did it matter? It couldn’t possibly matter. More than likely there was some other appaloosa running around making babies. The mare before her was tall but not deep and hefty like a draft, although if she looked hard enough it almost looked as if... No. Focus.

“My name is Impazienza, but that’s more than a mouthful so you can call me Impa. There’s a chestnut duplicate of me running around somewhere named Imp, so I won’t be offended if my name gives you trouble. I could hardly be upset when I couldn’t even get yours right the first time,” she finished with a little laugh. Diplomacy, politics— those were easy.

Everything else was proving to be impossible.