It was the morning after the birth of her little sister, and already Jetta had wandered off again. She had woken sharply at dawn and poked and prodded her sister and mother to rouse them, but they both were exhausted by the events of the previous night, and so Jetta was left to her own devices.

Exploring was her favorite thing to do, aside from making up stories and musing on the philosophical questions in life. She never worried that she would get lost or hurt, for her mother had hammered into her brain quite early on that the peak was the safest place in the entire islands, if you did not count the risk of falling down the mountain and breaking a leg. Plus, there was almost always a mare nearby if she needed help or company; here in the peak, she could enjoy the benefits of alone time without having to worry about the risks and consequences of actually being alone.

Or so she thought.

Stallions were not allowed in the peak – that was one thing she knew. Yet to her it seemed the Vulcans enjoyed breaking this rule. For instance, a few weeks ago her grandfather had come to stay, though admittedly he was old and blind and posed no threat. And there was another stallion – not one she had seen up close, but she had smelled him enough times to know that he was not simply a visitor. He did not seem to be a threat either, however, for none of the mares were in any hurry to usher him out, and her mother did not seem concerned by his presence.

As it was, her experience of stallions was very limited, and she had never been taught how to handle stumbling across one who had wandered in uninvited. Thus it was that, as Jetta climbed the lower slopes and found a stream to drink from, she spotted the intruder and, for a long time, did nothing. She watched him from her perch on higher ground, though she was out in the open and made no effort to conceal herself, and waited until he had wandered onto a hill just below hers. Her bright blue eyes roamed his pale, freckled body, noting his lean build and the unusual splotch of dark brown on his shoulder. That splotch worried her. Though she had never seen blood before, Jetta knew instinctively what resembled a potential injury, and so after hesitating a moment longer she began to carefully make her way downhill, toward the stallion.

“Hello,” she said calmly, stopping a stone’s-throw away. The stallion had a couple inches on her height-wise, but he had nothing on most of the horses who lived here, including her mother. Thus, though she was cautious, she did not fear him. The Vulcans would come if she called.

“Stallions aren’t supposed to be here, you know.” Her eyes drifted to the splotch on his side. “Does that hurt?”

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