Impa dozes in the trees.
There is an old, familial comfort among the trunks. She imagines the cool touch of the shade is thrown by the comforting arch of her grandsire's neck as if he is still here with her, but he is long passed, now. Their time together had been short, barely a week here on the mountain, but Impa misses him the most. Ikari had been a steady, soothing presence, not at all volatile and reactionary like her father, nor painfully passive like her sister. The memories make her grunt, half-asleep. Jezibelle. Impa had followed her sister, and their brother, off the islands in an attempt to reconcile. At first it had been merely awkward, but as the days went on it became distinctly uncomfortable. Her bay sister had been unaccountably skittish in the pine woods of their ancestors right up until Impa realized it was her presence driving Jezibelle's discomfort. And Rurisk— sometimes she thought she saw bits of Ikari in him, but more often than not it was Kisei's temper flaring through, something else that seemed to decrease the less time she spent with them. Impa knew this because she withdrew from their company, little by little, and made note of the shift in their demeanors when her black bulk was less prevalent. What really nailed it for her was the birth of her nephew: an odd child, stranger from the outset somehow than even his eccentric mother, and with his arrival came the distinct feeling that Impa herself was... unwelcome. So, she left.
Old now, swaybacked and three-quarters blind with white peppering her muzzle, Impa finds herself once again where she belongs. Here, at the Peak, among the mares who populate the mountain like a herd of bighorn sheep. Home.
She shifts her weight and swims closer to wakefulness. There is no rain, today, and therefore less excuse than ever to stay hidden in this copse of trees. Impa does not often find herself parted from Mouse these days but sometimes it is nice to wander away for a little while and drift to sleep with only nostalgia for company. Since her return she hasn't ventured too far up the peak itself. Impa tells herself it's because she's reacquainting herself with the lay of the land and nothing at all to do with the way her joints creak, or the fact that one misstep could send her tumbling to a more permanent darkness than the one which daily threatens her vision. Sighing the last of sleep from her lungs, Impa shakes herself out from her ears to her tail. Turning carefully, she makes her ponderous way through and out of the woods. Today is as good a day as any. Maybe Mouse will be her eyes, and she can grease her knees with the tried-and-true stubbornness that has seen her this far through life.
The light strengthens as she leaves the trees, as does the feeling of open air all around her. Like walking into a cavern. Impa snorts lightly, amused, and lifts her muzzle to test the air. Thus far she has encountered none of the stallions who mill about the Peak— surprising to her, given their multitude, but also not that surprising at all. She is an old Vulcan who can barely see. It is doubtful the bachelors would prefer to spend time with what amounts to a grandmother when so many other eligible ladees are about.
Chuckling to herself, Impa almost misses the tell-tale signs of another horse nearby: the scent carried to her on the breeze is light and unfamiliar, and her ear ticks automatically toward the quiet breathing of mare. "Come to see the sunset?" she asks as her head turns marginally to try and pinpoint the other's location. It could be midmorning —she really has no clear idea of how long she's slept— but Impa can smell the sweet evening primroses wafting through the air. "I always liked to follow the sun down from the slopes. Made the days feel longer, especially in winter." |
IMPAZIENZA