The final days of autumn are losing their grip on the world, but the Brilliant Pampas are no less beautiful than Cegane had imagined they would be. A quilt of warm colors stretches out before the funny little trio, and the stallion halts when the dry, red clay of Loess is replaced by fertile black soil.

Clegane's mottled coat stands puffed up against the chill in the air, but he is not the least bit cold. His usually soft grey eyes are alive with light as they dance across the rolling patchwork of fall colors. He presses a hip to Bean's side, feeling the warmth of her and letting it ground him. But the meadows call to him, and a tremble passes over him before he wades into the sea of living color, overwhelmed and breathless.

It is a feast of the senses; the sweetest scent he has ever know fills the air around them, and a laugh escapes him as he finds his wits again. Clegane springs into a canter, wildflowers flying from his heels, before finding a bed of poppies which check his step. Their bobbing red heads cause his scarred lip to pull into a smile, and he sinks to the ground just to be nearer to them, to be one of them.

His head snakes along the ground for a moment before he begins to roll with mighty grunts, four pale legs flailing in the air. He rolls until his coat is stained by the colors of earth and flowers alike.

"Bean!" He calls, his head rising above the plants once he is upright again, "Bean is it what you thought it would be," he asks, as if she has spent as much time dreaming of this day as he had, "Is is just as nice as you imagined?"