Gifts were meant to be given, whether wanted or not. It was a core facet of her being, like breathing or laughter. In the blood, quite literally.
She was never sure who had it first. There was just enough pegasi in her ancestry that it could match up to myth and legend. That felt too neat though, like one of those store wrapped gifts, all pretty looks but utterly devoid of personality. No, life was messy.
Nana had the twitches, of that she was sure. She bore her name, her mane, and her secrets. All of them. It had skipped her mother, you see. Nana had tried to coax it to no avail. Grey in coat and grey in personality, her mother lacked, and it stung Nana dearly.
Then she'd popped out one blustery morning, and joy blossomed. Nana Pinkie always believed there was no greater gift than the future.