The other mare seemed unfazed by Imp’s rude welcome, which the chestnut girl took to mean that she was either not intimidating or the pale perlino was much tougher than expected. Imp decided she was at fault for failing to make her companion nervous. Being tall and heavy didn’t mean jack unless you had the attitude to go with it, and the blanketed chestnut had been named oh-so-fondly after a mischievous sprite by her dear dam. Imp was not so much aggressive as she was cheeky, and the rust-red girl got a kick out of teasing others because it cost her nothing.

Impa had proven to be mostly indifferent to her heckling, although to be honest, Imp hadn’t been trying very hard. Maybe this mare would prove to be a willing companion to banter with. The perlino introduced herself with an accent that made her vowels more full than Imp had ever heard before, but the girl was not shocked by the other mare’s voice so much as what she ended her sentence with. Imp had hardly ever been off the mountain before —once, maybe twice was all— and she knew a grand total of maybe four or five horses. She hadn’t done anything noteworthy except taunt Jezibelle whenever the bay mare was in earshot. Which left only one possibility: someone told Satitba who she was.

Imp wanted to know why. “Could be,” she said, her tone having cooled considerably. She flicked her ears back as she glanced aside, but it only took a moment before one dark eye traveled back to Satitba. “Depends on who wants to know, and why they’re asking.” The perlino wore a friendly expression but Imp didn’t trust its sincerity. After all, she portrayed fake emotions all the time. Why would this mare be any different from her?