So her aunt had been talking. Imp flicked her tail and shot another sidelong glance at her pale companion. The other mare had height but not girth, and her hind end seemed spattered with spots only sometimes— but even then, the chestnut girl had to look closely. Imp had this idea that spots were superior, and even if Satitba’s were hard to see, they still made her at least a little trustworthy. Besides Jezibelle, all the horses Imp admired had spots. Impa and herself. So, Satitba was either a mare like Jezibelle —and already Imp knew that was not the case— or a mare like her aunt or herself. “Nah,” Imp said, and stretched her lips in a grin. “Just making sure you’re not a spy or anything like that.”

There had to be enemies of the Peak. Like stallions— why else would Impa keep her away from them, and why else would the mares who lived on the mountain reject the company of men? Imp knew there were mares and stallion alike on the rest of the islands, horses who mingled and coexisted together, so her statement was not so farfetched as to be unreasonable. She’d never spent much time away from home and the one venture she had made to the Falls had brought her face to face with a weird stallion who’d dipped his entire front half toward the ground after he’d introduced himself. He had been odd, but Imp didn’t want to assume all males were the same. Otherwise she’d have to start questioning the motivations behind the mares who lived with them willingly.

“So, you’ve met my aunt, then,” Imp continued. She spoke casually and shifted her weight off of one hip, as relaxed as if there had not been an extended moment of tension between the two of them. “But you’re not from the mountain. What’s it like on the islands? Have you spoken with stallions? Was it scary?” Her curiosity was insatiable, and reduced her to the newly matured child she still was. Imp hungered for knowledge of the world outside the Peak.