It seemed Impa no longer had time for Imp. The older mare walked with storm clouds in her eyes and rage dripping like saliva between her teeth. It was so palpable Imp was surprised Jezibelle hadn’t commented on it, because the bay blanketed mare had wasted no time in resuming her sniping comments and apathetic attitude towards the chestnut girl. It was like Jezibelle had never actually left the Peak.

So the rust-red girl busied herself at the edge of the adults as she waited for her life to start. When Michonne walked up to her, Imp had found a snail and was staring intently at the small, slow-moving creature as it slimed its way over a pebble near her hooves. She lifted her head and whickered a welcome to the other mare, blowing out a long breath to ruffle the roan mare’s mane as she nosed Imp’s neck. “Bored,” she replied with a humorless laugh. “The adults all want to talk but not when I’m around.” The only adults she knew, really, were her aunt and Jezibelle. There was another mare with them now, a pale, slight Arabian who looked like she’d collapse in a pile of broken bones if Impa sneezed too hard around her, and of course Satitba. The perlino was more entertaining than the older mares but Imp found she had missed the company of the first friend she’d made on the mountain.

Imp moved forward and she felt the tip of her hoof catch the thin shell of the snail she had been watching. She felt more than heard the delicate crunch as she set her hoof down, and flattened her ears at the oozing sensation that pressed against the bottom of her toe. When she looked down, the snail’s wet trail ended abruptly and she snorted. “Gross,” she muttered, lifting her hoof and giving it a shake to dislodge what remained of the shelled slug. “Let’s get out of here,” she said as she glanced at Michonne. “Maybe go hang out at the base? I don’t want to be around these old fogies anymore,” she continued with a jerk of her head to where Impa and Jezibelle stood.