She has, indeed, grown bold.

More and more often Isabella finds herself wandering further and further from the side of her mother—who, in turn, seems grateful for respite from her daughter's company, for when the bay and black pair come together again each day before nightfall, the elder smells of places other than the Peak. Izzy has not yet journeyed alone beyond the borders of their home, but today may be the day. She lingers near the border, her feet heavy with indecision, when voices bounce to her between the hills. Her ears prick, intrigued at the masculine weight of one and the firm femininity carried by the other. As yet, she hasn't met anyone else who likewise calls the Peak home, though she knows there is a general mixture wandering about. Rhadra and Jay and she have been well-sequestered in the high valley since the raid. As there is no inflection of fear in either fading tone, Izzy turns back into the territory to investigate.

It doesn't take long for her to find who she seeks. There stands a woman looking imperiously down at a man, the tips of her ears in as much danger of touching as Izzy's pseudo-brother's, gilt in rich, warm gold tones and splashed from beneath by white. The man —no, a boy her own age— is supplicating as Isabella draws nearer, and she hears him asking permission to prove himself as her eyes skip over the dapples cratering his dark coat. Both his behavior and word choice is strange to her —'my kind'— and Izzy's own brow furrows as she looks between the two. "Why?" she asks, trying to puzzle out the unfamiliar dynamic she has come across.

Is it for bragging rights that he asks, such as she has desired with Jay? Her mother is not a native to this mountain, nor have either of them seen in more than passing other members of the herd. Izzy has heard of a stallion whom her mother speaks of fondly called Kestral, and of course knows and favors herself Collision. This is her experience of stallions on the Peak: men well-liked and accepted, as much a part of the herd as any mare. The exception being the two golden raiders who startled them all by the creek— but they were strangers, their intent to do harm obvious in their snaking, striking teeth and hurried attempts at herding. She doesn't understand, then, why this mare appears so arch in the face of a boy who literally chews the air before her, nor why he would behave in such a way— unless she has not come across strangers at all, but two who are already acquainted. Abruptly Izzy realizes she has been quite rude in her appearance of what may be a very private conversation, but as she has already taken her place in their group and added her voice to it, it would be more socially awkward to turn tail now and leave without further involvement. As such, her ears flick sideways and she utters a small cough. "I'm Izzy, by the way. Isabella. But call me Izzy. Please. Uhm," she fumbles through her introduction, then grips her lower lip in her teeth before more nonsense can tumble out.