Inka

As she listened to Jasiri's proposition, a growing feeling of cold disbelief washed over her. Inka's dark eyes did not stray from the draft mare's face, and she made as much of an effort to maintain composure as she could, but when the words "you're old" left Jasiri's mouth, the Friesian mare's incredulity became the first, slow-smoldering embers of anger. Inka's muzzle might have been peppered with grey, and her joints might have given her trouble every so often, but she was still strong enough to bear children and climb mountains if need be, and her mind was still as sharp as when she had been an adolescent. She had no intentions of laying down to die any time soon, and the fact that this stranger was treating Inka as though she was a helpless invalid only served to cement the impression that she was a horse not to be trusted.

Her brow furrowing and her nostrils flaring, the Friesian mare stood as tall and imperious as her stature would allow. "I beg your pardon," she said, her voice sharp like a whip, "but I do not need your help. This Peak is my home, the Peak mares are my family, and I have no intention of leaving them ever." She twisted her ears back and mentally chewed on the fact that Jasiri was only interested in helping drafts. In her long life, Inka had known individuals like Jasiri who were only interested in horses like themselves. Her father had been one of them, and though Inka had loved Het Vuur, she had never approved of his elitist, discriminatory views. "Out of interest, why on earth do you want to protect drafts? We are not exactly incapable of protecting ourselves. If anything, we have an advantage over others, don't you think?"