There was a weight lifted off the grulla’s shoulders the moment she finished speaking, and for the several moments in which Impa did not speak she again turned away to look out over the crossing and the ocean beyond. It was good to be atop the mountain again, to breathe the fresh mixture of altitude and salt in the air. It was chilly up here, with the wind ruffling through her mane and tail, even biting at the skin on her body with some gusts. But the Peak was home, as she had said, and it had beckoned her back to be welcomed by this bitter manifestation of Impa.

A stiff word from the draft broke her concentration, and her ear flickered back to catch it. What finally brought her gaze back to Impazienza’s face was the awkward way she tried to fumble through her next sentence. Mouse watched with a skeptical expression as her friend grew flustered and ultimately ended up resting her gaze everywhere but directly at the smaller mare.

I’m sorry. Mouse knew how difficult it must be to utter those words. Most horses seemed to have the same problem. It was certainly no easy feat to admit when one was in the wrong. The sadness in Impa’s voice was apparent. This, along with the fact that the draft could not meet her eye, made the grulla feel even guiltier than when she’d left with her daughter.

She took a few tentative steps forward, making an effort to encourage eye contact. “Hey, I’m sorry, too. I can’t say I won’t ever leave to visit them, but I promise I will always come home.” Mouse completed the distance between herself and Impa, allowing their shoulders to brush, if her friend would allow it. “Besides,” she added with a chuckle, “I think if you’ve been such an ass to mares lately you’ll need me around to keep you in check.”