“Yak reach border of pony land in good time. Wise to stop now to prepare for imperfect climate.”

Prince Rutherford’s words had the shape and tone of wise counsel, but the arban of yaks knew an order when they heard one. The adults snorted their agreement and began to push and jostle for the best pick of rocks around them, but all Yona could manage was a hasty attempt at concealing her relief as she slumped onto the dew-flecked sedge. The march down the craggy angles of the Bayakhongor mountains had been without incident—a sign from the gods, Prince Rutherford had declared—but the nearer they had got to the border of Yakyakistan, the more sluggish Yona had felt.

Checking that she wasn’t being watched, Yona began to press her legs into the scratchy damp of the undergrowth, marvelling at the too-fleeting coolness. She had driven herself near-insane trying to figure out why she was feeling so empty; it was like attempting to solve one of the wooden puzzle-boxes every young yak was given on their birthday, only Yona couldn’t smash her head against a rock to get at what was inside.

She stopped to double-check her reasoning about that, just to make sure.

It was probably just the strange, stifling warmth of the pony hinterland she eventually decided. The alternative was that she was sick, but Yona suppressed those thoughts the moment they surfaced. She was a yak! She didn’t get sick. Yaks were tough and strong; yaks didn’t catch colds and they certainly didn’t feel anxious or nervous or scared!

Dipping her head so she could nibble at a sedge, Yona watched the adults as they formed a line in front of the oovo the arban had stopped at. A squat mound of rocks and boulders speared through by colourful streams of fabric that fluttered in the breeze, the size of the oovo had initially surprised Yona. She had been told by the others that it had only been constructed as a distance-marker rather than for ceremonial purposes like the one near Bayakhongor she used to travel to as a calf.

The memory of a song haunted her lips as she forced herself to her hooves. Braids swung and slapped against her head and Yona bared her teeth. They were tied up too tight, even for a yak, and for a moment her aunt’s proud smile as she had styled them dominated Yona’s thoughts. She always tied braids too tight; it was like the final time Yona and her family visited the Bayakhongor oovo, when they asked the spirits to bind departed family to the moonlight so they could feast and sing together until dawn.

The time she visited the oovo before that...

Yona set her jaw. When that failed to make her feel better she snorted defiance into the oppressive air. It almost made her forget how much her body had hurt that day.

In need of reassurance, Yona lifted a stone onto her back and joined the shrinking line as the remaining yaks left their offerings. Sunlight danced across the damp patches of freshly placed stones, shunning the lichen-courted ones beneath, while small bundles of carex and kobresia and boortsog rested on top. The sight of the puffy butter cookies in particular made Yona’s stomach ache. And her heart.

The yak in front of her looked over his shoulder. His eyes were barely visible between helmet and shaggy fur, but Yona could tell they were moving between her and the stone on her back.

“Offering quite small,” he barked. “Make gods forget easily.”

Yona bristled, though her eyes still darted towards the oovo as she placed her stone. Birds were loudly singing from the highest points, a sure sign that the gods were asleep.

“Why anxious?” she asked. “We are yaks; we don’t need reassurance to travel into pony land… Do we?”

The older yak studied her for a second before snorting. Then he walked off to place his own, much larger, stone on the mound.

Yona sighed and turned her attention to the land beyond the oovo. It certainly wasn’t perfect, despite the colourful blooms of flowers and rolling fields, and Yona felt what was left of her earlier excitement ebb away. Soon she would be living there, surrounded by strange and imperfect things and not her mother’s vanilla cake or her aunt’s hair-braiding lessons or wrestling with her friends—

Yona set her jaw, but again the act failed to prevent once pleasant memories from turning into thorns in her stomach. A tremble passed through her legs, and she straightened her frame, her eyes darting to the other yaks. When she was satisfied that no one had noticed, she took a deep steadying breath. But the ice creeping across her chest continued unchecked, tendrils reaching out to ensnare her heart, her lungs.

With a bellowing roar, Yona reared up and charged across the rocky ground. She passed the oovo with a last-minute prayer, and didn’t stop until she was standing amongst the delicate, fragranced flowers. Glaring at everything that wasn’t yak, Yona panted out her panic into the mild air.

Then she swallowed. She was in the ponylands. She, Yona of Ruthven, was standing in the ponylands.

Aware of the smile that was growing across her face, Yona forced her eyes to turn critical. Did the ground beneath her hooves feel weaker than Yakyakistan earth? Was the grass far too soft for yak tongues?

Yona glanced back to the rest of the arban, but left the questions unspoken. She desperately wanted to say or do something that allowed her perfect yakness to shine through, but it felt like all too often these days she was getting it wrong.

The air seemed to cling even tighter, and Yona licked her lips as a thought came to her. Was that the reason why she had been chosen to enrol at the pony school?

She trudged back to the others, feeling more conflicted than ever. Prince Rutherford was standing beside the oovo, bellowing passionately to the yaks about legacy and pride. Yona sat between two of them and slowly joined in as they stamped and snorted their approval. When Prince Rutherford gazed down at her, Yona felt a flush of pride, but that quickly bled away as he took some charcoal from a pack and applied it to her cheeks.

“Yak not need that!” Her voice shook as she protested. Rutherford merely snorted.

“Yak foolish to not fear things. Many strange spirits outside Yakyakistan; this tell them you under protection of yak ones.”

Yona hung her head and allowed him to finish. “O—Okay.”

Rutherford nodded, his expression hidden beneath an impenetrable wall of hair and helm. “Being perfect yak takes time. Until then, be perfect learner.”

Flaring her nostrils, Yona watched as the prince moved on, taking her pride with him. A few moments after, one of the other yak stepped beyond the oovo and looked down at the ground.

“Ground too weak,” he bellowed. “Yak must watch what yak eat. Good then that pony grass is too soft.”

The other yaks all laughed, but Yona could only scowl. She was so busy ruminating on another missed opportunity that she didn’t notice Prince Rutherford returning to her side.

“This momentous trip,” he boomed, making Yona jump. “Will be remembered in song by every yak.”

The braying of the yaks echoed across the plains, but whether from the prince’s words or her own discomfort Yona’s heart grew heavy.

“Wish father was here,” she muttered.

Prince Rutherford’s ears twitched. “Yona’s father is key strategist in war against philistine ibex,” he declared, turning his head towards her. “Needed in Yakyakistan to plan military and artistic offensive. Very important.”

Yona raised her chin and tried to nurture her pride into something stronger. She couldn’t remember exactly what the war had started over this time, only that her father had been complaining one night that Prince Rutherford’s latest self-portrait definitely did not resemble a frostbitten potato with hair.

Yona didn't know the first thing about art, but if all of the other yaks were really angry about it then she needed to be too, even though she found it hard to keep that anger at the front of other, more troubling thoughts. Thoughts such as critical opinion being a silly thing to go to war over, particularly as stronger forces had recently began to threaten both of their lands.

She shook away those ideas. She was a yak, she had to start thinking like one. Too many times now she had felt different from the others. This journey was a chance for her to prove that she was the same. A proper yak.

Yona’s ears twitched as Prince Rutherford continued his speech. But what if there was a better way for her to achieve that?

“Yona want to fight too.” She felt heat on her cheeks as Prince Rutherford stopped talking and joined the other yaks in gazing down at her. She willed her body to stand still and proud, though her eyes refused to comply.

“And why is that?”

Yona’s eyes continued to dart between the yak. They were all being so quiet! Why weren’t they braying and stamping their feet in approval?

She bit her lip as she tried to think of an answer. Why did she want to join them in battle? She hadn’t been expecting to have to justify anything—when had any yak ever had to do that?

“Because… Because Prince Rutherford talks like war is important.” She licked her lips, warming to the argument. “War is important, and that’s why Yona want to help. Fight.”

Prince Rutherford was silent for a moment, his mouth a hard line. Then he turned to the rest of the arban. “Very well. Yona will join other yaks in battle!”

Yona jumped as the yaks around her began stamping and bellowing, but after a few moments pride began to envelope her body. This was what she had been waiting for: an opportunity to show her yakness through fighting and smashing.

She remembered her friends showing her their yakness. She remembered how much it hurt.

Prince Rutherford smacked her helm with a hoof. “Yak not look happy. Isn’t this what yak wants?”

“Yes!” The words were out of Yona’s mouth quicker than she could think. When her brain had caught up she tried to clarify her feelings. “No. I mean… I thought fighting would—”

To her surprise Prince Rutherford began to laugh. “Yes. Yona is right yak for this school.”

“B—But...” Yona felt both relieved and devastated. “Why?”

In response, Prince Rutherford turned and marched towards the oovo. Yona lingered for a second before deciding to follow, her hooves small in the muddy craters of his imprints. When she reached him, Prince Rutherford nodded at the mound.

“What Yona see?”

Yona squinted against the breeze. “Yona see oovo. And food,” she paused, before adding, “yak food is best—”

“And ovoo is?”

Yona looked between Prince Rutherford and the oovo, flustered. “Oovo is sacred shine, every yak knows that. Yak pray to spirits for safe journey. Oh, and make offering of food and stones.”

Prince Rutherford nodded. “Many stones. Big stones.”

Yona nodded, wondering what point he was trying to make.

“Big stone offering for big journey. Yaks have decided to share yak culture with world. Yaks must travel safe as journey is very important.”

“Sharing yak culture will make rest of world almost as perfect, yes,” she replied.

Prince Rutherford laughed. “Trade and alliance beneficial to yak, but sharing culture will indeed make rest of world better. Important then that yak take best parts of world and introduce to yak culture. Keep yaks best.”

Yona frowned. “But yak not good at learning from others. Pride too strong.”

After an uncomfortably long silence, Yona was relieved when Prince Rutherford finally nodded. “Yona speaks truth. That is why Yona is perfect for pony school. Yona critical, thoughtful. Yona patient.”

The horrible feeling returned to Yona’s stomach. “So… Less yak?”

Prince Rutherford tossed his head, his bronze eyes momentarily visible beneath the tangle of hair. “I remember when you fight with friends at Bayakhongor ovoo.”

Yona felt blood rush to her face. “They not friends,” she replied hotly.

“Friends willing to break bones are reliable friends,” Prince Rutherford said, laughing. “But that not important here. You were all smashing new road.”

Yona held his gaze. “Yak exercising traditional way of demonstrating disquiet with poor municipal planning. Road ruined stamping meadow.”

“Is good tradition. So why Yona try to stop it?”

Yona’s mouth went dry. Surely he knew the answer to that, didn’t he? After all he had been there. Yona remembered him quietly watching as she tried to fight back against her former friends.

When it became clear Prince Rutherford was waiting for an answer, Yona lifted her head high. “Yak smashing is wasteful… sometimes.”

She flinched as Prince Rutherford snorted. “Continue.”

“It… It wastes resources and energy. Takes time and attention to rebuild.” Yona swallowed and looked sidelong at the rest of the arban. “Better to consult with yak before building.”

Prince Rutherford’s face darkened, but Yona fought the urge to look away. Eventually he nodded.

“Yona perfect at being Yona, and being perfect is yak way.” He glared at the horizon, as though blaming it for something. “Yak way may need to change. This is troubling, but yaks like Yona important to help yaks find right path.”

Yona gasped. “Even you?”

The sudden boom of Prince Rutherford's laugh made all of the yaks jump.

“Even I. Yaks perfect in different ways, after all. But before Yona can do this, Yona must—”

“Learn!” Yona grinned. The excitement she once felt about the trip was slowly returning. “Yona learn about other cultures.”

“Good, good!” Rutherford appeared to think for a moment. “Except ibex culture. Nothing to learn from ibex, particularly in ways of art.”

They shared a laugh as they returned to the rest of the arban. “Yak blessed enough now,” Rutherford declared. “We move on.”

As the yak began to shamble past the oovo, Yona paused. Suddenly her offering didn’t seem quite big enough, given the importance of her task. Prince Rutherford hadn’t said anything about it, but it still felt like a symbol of that difference between her and the other yak. Yona realised then that she didn't want that to be the case in every respect.

Turning back, Yona stomped her way over to a rock a little over half her size, before lowering her head and inhaling deep. The thick mossy coating made her helm slip as she pushed her head against it, but Yona readjusted her position and tried again. The other yaks were silent, and for a few moments Yona was painfully aware of how shrill her voice sounded as she grunted and groaned.

But then the stone ceded an inch of ground, and she grinned in triumph. As she began to slowly lift and roll it towards the oovo, her teeth clenched and muscles twitching, Yona actually felt relieved that none of the other yaks had offered her any encouragement. Their silence meant she was achieving something through her passion and will alone, and in that moment Yona couldn’t think of anything more important than to be doing that.

When the stone finally came to a rest at the base of the oovo, Yona took a moment to recover her breath and then turned to face the rest of the arban. Pride swelled in her chest as, one by one, they slowly nodded their heads at her before walking on.

Prince Rutherford watched her as she approached his position.

“Yona still doubted after wise yak counsel?”

Still buoyed by her success, Yona nodded.

Prince Rutherford’s face betrayed nothing. “Yak answered doubts?”

“Yes!”

Quicker than she ever thought possible, Prince Rutherford lowered his head and lunged forward. The world spun as his helm butted against Yona’s, her hooves scrabbling but failing to find purchase as she tumbled backwards onto the ground. Blood filled her mouth, and Yona spat it out in gasping coughs as she struggled back up.

A shaky laugh escaped her mouth as she looked at Prince Rutherford. He simply nodded.

“Yes, I believe you have.”

Yona watched as he turned and marched away. After a moment she followed, grinning, her hooves once again stepping in the imprints of his.

This time, they didn’t feel so small.