Easy, Isabella thinks as she takes another deliberate step in the foothills, to be bold way up where almost no one knows you are or cares to trouble themselves to hike all that way on a gamble. Easy to stay put by the sunny lakeside and watch the season start to turn as the wind whips a little more fiercely through the grass and motivates the water to dance. Easy to hide away in a tower and look down at the world in contented wonder— but, she muses as she pauses, head held high and ears twisting as she scents the air for any sign at all of stallions-who-should-not-be-here, clearly she has not been content to wile away all her hours at those heights. Boredom is easily come by in that sheltered upper valley: there's never anyone new, there, and she can only swim or chase her own shadow for so long. At least it isn't just her mother and her, anymore. Jay's presence, and Collision's recent return, have spiced life up just enough to remind her that the world is bigger than her bedroom.

Isabella's eyes flit in the direction of the creek, and her gut clenches.

Easy, she tells herself, but no matter how she wills her legs to move they do little more than tremble. She lifts her dark nose higher —surely they haven't been lurking in the trees all these months— then glances to the west where the hills roll a little higher. The taller vantage point they offer is exceedingly attractive, and she turns toward them without any resistance in her legs. Better to be up high anyway: she'll be able to see quite a bit more than just the creek, in whichever direction she turns, and have enough warning of anyone's approach to decide whether she should run or stand her ground.

It takes some time to reach her chosen hill, winding as Isabella's path is, but finally she finds herself climbing up the little slope one dogged step at a time, head bobbing as the wind pushes her encouragingly forward, humming a little tune to herself and thinking maybe she'll gather up some lower-valley blooms for Jay as proof of her exploit, when she gets high enough to see there's a horse already standing up there.

She freezes, one front leg poised still for her next step, eyes wide and worried before she registers that he is not one of the golden marauders from when she was young(er). This male is gray, like a shadow on stone, and though stocky he doesn't look exactly like an adult. Additionally, his face is short, and his ears are so small they're a little bit cute. Not one thing about him reminds her of the lean, dark-dappled-gold stallion from before. Isabella's expression turns surly to hide how she was startled, and she stomps her hoof.

"Oh," she says, brow furrowed. "I didn't think anyone would be here." She remains braced just before the top of the hill as her gaze slides past him. She doesn't want to see the creek now, in the company of some stranger. What if it's just as upsetting to see that distant trickling water as she thinks it will be? The last thing Isabella wants is for anyone —especially a boy— to see her scared. She snorts and tosses her blazed face before taking the last few steps needed to bring her to level ground, standing near the boy if not exactly with him. She tries to keep her glance casual as she casts it out on the sprawling landscape below, but she can't even look in the direction from which all her panic stems, too aware of the other body on the hill and all her past terror surging in rhythmic waves to set the ends of her nerves sparking. She shudders her coat and turns to face him, abruptly grateful for this tangible distraction that only moments ago she had disdained. Isabella fixes her eyes on the tips of his ears. "What are you doing, anyway?"