Rust and snow and every shade of shadow. Rust and snow and every shade of shadow.
Lepis repeats the phrase to herself without conscious thought, the tongue-twister making less of a sound than the soft crunch of snow beneath her hooves. It had fallen last night, soft and fluffy and less cold than she’d anticipated. The flakes that had fallen on the winged mare have long since burned away from the heat of her skin, though a faint dusting of melting ice adorns the edges of her gold and blue feathers. Her descent from the heavens had been very recent and very swift. The shock of it has her repeating the names of the three colors as she makes her way through the redwood Taigan forest.
Rust and snow and every shade of shadow.
Heda’s stories had given Lepis an idea of what to expect as far as landscape here, and the woods around her do not disappoint. Farther than her eye can see, the forest stretches on. Ancient trees touch the sky, their rust red trunks wider than her own body. The Comtesse knows that there are meadows, small clearings in the tricolored forest where grazing is plentiful and conversation can be found. The path her navy legs tread is not toward any of those meadows. Instead she follows the trail of a brook that babbles cheerily, treading in the shallow waters at hock-depth. Whenever it becomes deeper than her knees, she takes to the sky in a few wingbeats, dropping back down where the water is fordable.
There is something in the trees. One blue ear flicks toward it, but just as swiftly returns to the gurgling water. The snlight of high noon does not break through the shadowy canopy often, but when it does it glimmers off the miniature rapids ahead of her brilliantly. The water feels almost alive here, and the dun tobiano pegasus smiles to herself, taking a brief moment to pause and sip the crisp water.
Lepis repeats the phrase to herself without conscious thought, the tongue-twister making less of a sound than the soft crunch of snow beneath her hooves. It had fallen last night, soft and fluffy and less cold than she’d anticipated. The flakes that had fallen on the winged mare have long since burned away from the heat of her skin, though a faint dusting of melting ice adorns the edges of her gold and blue feathers. Her descent from the heavens had been very recent and very swift. The shock of it has her repeating the names of the three colors as she makes her way through the redwood Taigan forest.
Rust and snow and every shade of shadow.
Heda’s stories had given Lepis an idea of what to expect as far as landscape here, and the woods around her do not disappoint. Farther than her eye can see, the forest stretches on. Ancient trees touch the sky, their rust red trunks wider than her own body. The Comtesse knows that there are meadows, small clearings in the tricolored forest where grazing is plentiful and conversation can be found. The path her navy legs tread is not toward any of those meadows. Instead she follows the trail of a brook that babbles cheerily, treading in the shallow waters at hock-depth. Whenever it becomes deeper than her knees, she takes to the sky in a few wingbeats, dropping back down where the water is fordable.
There is something in the trees. One blue ear flicks toward it, but just as swiftly returns to the gurgling water. The snlight of high noon does not break through the shadowy canopy often, but when it does it glimmers off the miniature rapids ahead of her brilliantly. The water feels almost alive here, and the dun tobiano pegasus smiles to herself, taking a brief moment to pause and sip the crisp water.
