Had Impazienza been a younger mare, her black lips might have curled in a wide, winning grin as Sterre spat out a reply. But the draft mare was an adult, one who had been grappling with a decade-old grudge against her sire, a grudge that had expanded to her siblings and lessened against her deceased father somewhat— but a grudge that overshadowed all other aspects of her life. She no longer cared about the Friesians from the Arch. Her vendetta against them —if indeed one could call it that— had been impulsive and short lived, her hatred for two strangers fueled by her own panic and fear as she tried to make sense of her life when it veered sharply in a direction she had never anticipated. Here, now, sedate and settled on her mountain, Impazienza was aware of how she had felt in the past when living in the Arch, but the emotions did not control her, nor even surface far enough to change her expression from polite neutrality.
She knew enough about the pair of blacks before her to guess at how difficult it was for Sterre to admit to needing help. The most intimidating thing about the two Friesians had been their fierce independence. She could see it in them still. Her dark eye flicked to Het Vuur, and she pinched her nostrils. It was curious that Sterre was the one who spoke; always, Impazienza had been under the impression that the stallion led that partnership. It would only make sense that he, the leader, should relax his pride and be the one to ask for help. But he did not, and she brought her gaze back to Sterre. It was more fitting that this interaction be between mares anyway, given their location and past conflict—however wrong the blanketed mare had been when she challenged Sterre for leadership she would not have been prepared for, even if she had had the slightest chance of winning.
She was aware of Inka’s steady gaze but refused to meet it. Sterre’s pride had bent, but Impazienza knew it would only go so far before it sprang back into place. It would be petty to force the Friesian to that point, and so the half-blind mare collected her thoughts in the space of a breath. She was prepared to reply when Jetta cut in, her high voice filled with the optimism of youth.
“Old times,” Impazienza repeated in a dry voice as she turned her head to regard the filly. Had she ever been that young? Staring up at her sire with the same energetic expectancy, pleading with body and voice for something he could not deliver, not in the way she desired? “Let us hope not.” she muttered, and her gaze flicked back to Sterre.
A breath. Papa, a filly’s voice echoed in the far corner of her mind.
“Sterre, Het Vuur.” She looked at each Friesian in turn. “Welcome to the Peak.”
There was nothing left to say. She did not care why they were on her mountain, and she would not force more discomfort upon the pair of monarchs by asking for a reason. The draft mare ardently hoped she would not encounter either of them again while they stayed on the Peak, but she had no plans to actively avoid them, either. In time the tension would pass. So she hoped, anyway.
Impazienza dipped her head in a shallow nod to both of their guests before looking toward Inka and Jetta. “I will not intrude on this reunion any longer. You should show them the lake on the south side, Inka. It has always been a favorite of mine, and I believe our guests will find the air refreshing in such a secluded place. Jetta.” She smiled at the filly. “Farewell,” she nodded again, this time to Inka and her daughter, and turned away from the group. Where she was headed did not matter, so long as she didn’t have to spend another moment reminded of her father’s abandonment of her.
That memory was still as fresh as yesterday.
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IMPAZIENZA