Autumnal changes had turned the lush field into something new: something different, and had it been the brown and reddish patches of foliage… death curling them in on themselves- or? Had it been the coniferous trees not far off blossoming and green. Spring and Summer gone and deer bedded earlier and earlier, the locusts and cicadas gone; but wolves and other manner of beast prowled. The sky was also greyer, duller and littered with cloud, and the rains of the season left frozen dew and hoarfrost scattered amidst the leaves and upon the rotting trees.
Mushroom and mossy rocks seemed thicker now, and ferns had littered the ground, the solid earth provided gentle thudding and the crunching of leaves and grass was heard beneath the hooves of those who walked by and strolled idly around. Shadows chased them; but the day had opened and though the sun was dulled by clouds it backlight the orange, brown, and red leaves and made them seem akin to conflagrations of wildfire burning and blazing without the heat.
She admired this, enjoyed it, and part of her was so fascinated by it that she raced towards the brush and stretches of grass: bursting through and oracing wildly as fillies are often inclined to do.
To the eye it was odd, the sight of her. A creature athletically built and graceful; but thicker than a hot-blood sport type… perhaps crossed with something warmer. No matter, it was not this that made her queer; but her color. The fur was a deep teal, duotone and matte, and it bore with it flecks of orange and milky patterns of white or gray that spread through it and made it seem as if she were painted in a mural of stars and galaxies. The deep curls of her glossy mane and tail were little more than frigid strands of ice that moved like hair and their coloration was a deep emerald or blue depending on the light.
She was a star, a frozen one, and a replica of the sky itself at night.
Yet? Amyrillis was more so bizarre when from the earth around her… glossy black stones ripped themselves free: the carbon forcing itself together and stretched into a weave that fitted itself around her neck and hung like a braided chain… jewelry.
Turning to the sound of footsteps, the filly looked at her would-be-guest: smiling and bowing her head… the pale blue eyes wider as she spoke. “Greetings, stranger.”
when change cometh, she will bring peace at her back
she will not bend to your will; you must bend to hers
@[Carwyn]