Imp laughed, once, loudly, in response to her friend’s story. “Stallions!” she said with a slow shake of her head, as if she were the leading expert on males. The chestnut girl was not, of course, but she was determined to outdo Little Bird if only for the sake of entertainment. The Peak was getting boring and, to the nearly matured young mare, small. The world outside of the mountain was bigger. Pestering Jezibelle was only fun for so long before the little herd of mares began to look old and unappealing. Imp was young and wanted to be where other young horses were.

She craved adventure, a life of some kind that would come sweep her away in its current. Now all she had to do was start walking and hope that eventually her hooves would sink into that excitement.

“The weirdo? You bet I did,” Imp lied. The two had parted amicably, or at least without any conflict that she was aware of, but she was bored. Very, very bored. This broke up the monotony that had become her life. “I showed him my hooves and bit him a little bit, just for good measure. I don’t like it when horses are weird around me and he was whack. I ran him right out of the Falls and into the ocean. Should’ve seen the splash he made, tryin’ to get away from me.” Imp eyed her companion sidelong and nodded. There was no reason it couldn’t be true. Imp was getting bigger everyday and she knew she was feisty— Impa had a hard time keeping the chestnut girl from honing her tongue on Jezibelle’s tough hide. Anyone would be afraid of her once she got going. Right?

“What’d that guy want with you and your dam, anyway?” she asked. It was hard to imagine stallions serving any useful purpose, given how well the mares on the Peak did without them.