Inka

The Peak in the summer was glorious. Its slopes and valleys were swathed in an unbroken blanket of green, and were decorated here and there with bright bursts of wildflowers. Birds sang from nearly every branch, butterflies and insects flitted merrily through the air, and the river - swollen to near-bursting from a recent rain - rushed with a determination that could be heard for a mile in every direction.

Inka should have been content. She was safe, well-fed, and her youngest child was strong and healthy, and no longer reliant on her milk. Ever since Adelheid had left a year ago, however, Inka's heart had been heavy. To this day, she did not know where her daughter was or why she had claimed her independence in such a volatile way, and it haunted her like a bad dream. Perhaps if her eldest daughter Jetta were here, Inka might have been able to unload her sorrows and let go of the feeling that she was a failure as a mother. But she had not seen Jetta since before Argento was born, and now that Diamant had reached maturity, she saw him less and less often too.

Her family was scattered and broken. She had no one: no one but her youngest child, whose sweet yearling adolescence she had no intention of spoiling with dull grown-up troubles. Inka might have sought out Impazienza for comfort instead, given the Prime Minister had witnessed that dreadful day and - as far as Inka knew - was the only other horse left on the Peak, but they had not spoken of it since it had happened, as though it was too delicate and shameful to bring up.

Thus, when Inka heard a youthful whinny one warm evening, hope rose in her heart. With a reluctant Argento at her side, the Friesian mare trotted until she had broken free of the trees they sheltered in at the base of the mountain. Brown eyes wide and heart racing, she peered in every direction until at last she caught sight of a young mare on the cliffs above her. At first, with her heart sinking at the realization that it was not Adelheid, Inka did not recognize her. But there was something oddly familiar about the mare's salt-and-pepper coat and copper-tipped mane and tail, and eventually, it came to her. Taika.

Inka looked down to meet her son's blue eyes, which were peering curiously up at the stranger on the cliffs. "I know her. Do you want to come with me?" When Argento hesitated, Inka decisively lashed her tail and erupted into a canter. It did not matter if he came or not. Inka was eager for a reunion with her daughter's friend. As she approached the base of the cliff Taika stood on, she let loose a whinny of greeting, and slowed. Hesitantly she eyed the rocks, partly to search for a safe route up and partly with reluctance. The cliffs held bad memories for her, and she had been avoiding them as best she could for the better part of two years.

She pushed on regardless. After a slow, laborious climb, the Friesian mare approached Taika with a smile and ears pricked in interest, while subtly keeping as far from the cliff edge as she could manage. "Hello Taika. It's been a while. Look at you, all grown up." Though she was still winded from her climb, the tall mare extended her nose to her companion in a friendly gesture. Perhaps now she would finally have a confidant.