inka

Stones scattered beneath her hooves as she climbed the foothills, and the winter wind was so cold it made her eyes water and her lungs ache. Yet Inka smiled as she returned to her home. She had been gone only a few days – to the stinky, stallion-infested commonlands and back – yet it had been long enough to make her realize what a truly rare refuge the Peak was. The horses here – the ones she had met so far, at least – seemed happy and relatively untroubled by life’s vexations, something she could not say for those she had met elsewhere on the crossing.

And here, at least, she could wander without the worry that she might run into her father.

Inka soon reached a large stretch of flat land, relatively flat and dotted with trees along every edge. Here she paused to catch her breath and admire the gold-and-crimson autumn colors that had not yet been smothered by snow, and watched as a sudden gale swirled the piles on the ground upwards into a dancing, whispering spiral. When the wind died down again and the leaves settled, she realized she could hear the gentle rush of the river nearby. Remembering her meeting with Impazienza, she decided then to grace the river’s banks once more – in the off-chance Impa or someone else would be there – rather than continue upward, toward the snow-capped peak.

The naked trees gave only the slightest bit of shelter from the biting wind as she reached the river. Its grey-green waters travelled slowly down the gentle incline, just as they had done the last time she was here. Only slightly disappointed to find that she was alone for the time being, Inka lowered her nose to take a long, well-deserved drink, and stared thoughtfully out across the water.

Despite her good mood, it took all her energy not to think of her father. I wonder how Macabre is doing. Yes, think of Macabre instead... Macabre, or anything else.

13 – friesian – 17hh