Almost as soon as her teeth met Impa’s skin, Mouse regretted having lashed out in such a way. Though she knew that the larger mare would likely not be physically bruised, it had been an impetuous action, and wholly unnecessary. Yet it could not be taken back, so she kept her face neutral and watched, as her friend turned and appeared to contemplate her next words.

In the brief moment during which Impa’s attention was elsewhere, Mouse let her eyes wander over the prime minister’s face. It had changed much in her absence, and she could not say it was necessarily for the better. The hardness that the grulla had only seen once before, after she revealed she had been raped, was there yet again, and it made the familiar face much less recognizable. Mouse pondered what could have caused such an expression to return. Perhaps another Peak mare had succumbed to the same fate? The question was on her lips when Impa finally turned to respond to her.

The draft’s words were curt and not the apology she hadn’t even known she was expecting; the mustang felt her temper begin to rise once more. It was surprising, how a simple story could make one so bold again. Yet that simple story had been important, as many simple things are, and Mouse would embrace her newfound boldness as if she actually remembered who she used to be. Rather than produce a retort, however, she found the sense to hold her tongue, suddenly noticing the grittiness of a few of Impa’s hairs between her teeth. Instead, she settled for turning her ears back in irritation before slightly bobbing her head to indicate her acknowledgement.

The uncomfortable silence that came next was nearly too much for the little mare. Rather than the comfortable and companionable stillness they used to share, this lack of conversation seemed to take on a physical form, shoving invisible fingers down her throat to steal any words she may have offered to her friend. As much as she wished to say something to Impa, it almost seemed as though the larger mare did not want her around. Despite this, and despite her lingering frustration with how she had been received, Mouse chose to stay, though she began to shift her hind feet in an attempt to relieve the tension in her limbs.

A change in tone from the blanketed mare brought the grulla’s dark ears forward again. The nonchalance almost hurt her more than the blatant coldness from earlier, but she figured if given a chance to explain herself she might be able to make Impa understand. She heaved a sigh of her own before meeting the eyes of her friend. “The unknown was starting to take a toll on me, and Osprey suggested we try to find my former home. On a whim, I agreed.” Mouse paused, looking apologetically at Impa, before continuing in a softer voice. “You were off on an errand, I think. I’d have waited, but I feared you might convince me not to go, and I was certain it was what I needed. It did not take long to find, really. Just a direct swim west off this island. Such a beautiful place, really.” Her brown eyes began to turn glassy, but her voice did not waver. “Most of my herd was killed, but we found…” The grulla trailed off, suddenly unwilling to share with Impa that she had a son. He was hers, her golden boy, and the only male she believed she would ever trust again. “We found out many things about who I was—no, who I am.” Her voice had grown stronger again, and she finished her story with this same tone. “I knew that despite finding my answers there, I belonged here. For the moment, Osprey does not feel the same, and is there with the little remaining family we have left.”

This was perhaps the most the grulla had spoken to Impa at one time, but it was quite liberating. Mouse felt better, regardless of the impact her tale would have on Impazienza.