In my years in the Arch as I monitored the behavior of my mares, I had grown wise in identifying what actions meant “back off” and which were meant as actual threats. Each mare of mine had a different way of showing it, and I was most well-versed in the Black’s behavior, but when the ashy mare in front of me bucked I jerked me head out of the way and continued to drive it without any rage in my actions. Mares with foals were bolder than mares without, and this one did not know me yet. It moved slowly and I did not push it. I was in a good mood: I had two mares in my herd, and the one before me was large. It would bear my children well, as well as the Black had, and I looked forward to settling into the Forest with my new herd.

Once the new mare was in the clearing with the spotted one, I moved away and circled the edge of the clearing to check for danger while the two females spoke. It was not lost on me that the draft mare had positioned itself protectively in front of its child, but I was not interested in the filly. Not yet. I flicked one ear toward the herd, gauging the tone of the mares without paying much attention to their words. Words were useless things, but neither of them had a voice like the Gold. I would permit it so long as they did not get annoying. The perimeter was clear. Satisfied, I returned to the two mares and stood a few feet away from where they spoke. I positioned myself closer to the spotted black mare than the heavy draft, but I was on the opposite side I had been before and stared at the filly. It was black, like the mare nearest me, and blanketed in a similar way. It reminded me of my sister, but this one was too small. I hadn’t met her until she came and defied the black stallion when I was no bigger than the filly at the mare’s side. I uttered a low snort and looked away, my attention on our surroundings. I cocked one hind hoof and relaxed.