The filly accepted Macabre’s physical contact gratefully, pressing against the damp hair of the mare’s side with half-stifled giggles. It did not matter that they were both sweaty; Macabre was her favorite horse in the peak – aside from her mother, of course. Jetta pouted playfully at the mare’s words, shaking her head with an exaggerated groan. “Oh, but I don’t want to be tall!”

The fact that they were both short was what had attracted Jetta to Macabre in the first place (that and her coat color, which was the prettiest out of all the peak mares’, in Jetta’s opinion); while she had always begrudgingly accepted that she would likely grow as tall as her mother, she did not look forward to it. She had seen how careful her mother had to be making her way up and down the slopes, and how she had to duck so often beneath tree branches; plus, if she grew taller than Macabre, they’d no longer be special together. It was the one thing they had in common, besides the fact they both lived in the peak.

As the conversation resumed between Macabre and the big blanketed mare, Jetta turned her attention to the stranger, gazing up with her chin tucked shyly against her chest. She continued to cling to Macabre’s side as if the mare was her mother, standing so close that the hairs on their barrels tickled against each other. The big mare seemed grumpy, but not unkind, and so Jetta was wary as she spoke up. “Are you and Marlena sisters? You’re both so tall. What’s a Prime Minister? What does... os... os-sten-si-aby mean?”

friesian mix; dark bay splash (ref); 6 mo; 16’1 wfg
(YET-uh)