Inka

It was not often that Inka traipsed up the steep slopes of the Peak any more. With her great height, it had always been an effort to manage, but now that she was getting older, it was getting downright dangerous. Her balance was not what it once had been, and any prolonged climbing left her joints aching for days afterwards. But now that all her children had left the nest, she was utterly alone. Where once the lower foot hills and forested valleys had brought her comfort that she associated with raising her children, now they left her feeling empty. They were too quiet, too secluded, too far away from the heart of the Peak.

So she climbed.

She had arrived the previous afternoon, and ever since had alternated spending her time soaking her joints in the shallows of the river and stretching out flat on the grass, soaking up the last of the seasonal sunshine. She was engaging in the latter when the call reached her. She lifted her head as the last notes of the neigh echoed through the air, but did not recognize its owner. It was certainly not Impazienza, who had been keeping to herself atop the Peak recently, so who could it be? With effort, the Friesian mare lifted herself from the grass and looked out across the rocky meadow. There, standing a short distance away, was a well-built silver-colored mare.

After taking a moment to see if Impazienza would answer the call, Inka started toward the stranger. She strolled slowly, head low and ears pricked curiously, and when she was close enough she began to extend her grey-peppered nose in greeting, then thought better of it. There was something fierce and business-like about this mare that made Inka wary, so she stood up straight and assumed an expression of polite interest. "Hello," she said. "Were you hoping to speak to the prime minister? I'm afraid I don't know where she is. I hope I'll do instead."