Fireflies drifted through air that scented of approaching spring, acting as small beacons of light in the darkness of twilight. Eyes the color of a fine whiskey followed the dance of the fireflies from their spot under a tree. The owner of the eyes knew that she should not be out at such a late time, especially alone. But sleep had been eluding her. And she was confident that she could handle most any hunter that lurked out there.The thick and fluffy ears that rested atop her head swiveled, searching for sounds that would signal the presence of another. So far it seemed that was still alone, and she hoped it would remain that way. Not out of fear, but out of a desire to continue to observe the simple beauty of the fireflies dance on her own.
To ease the stiffness of her legs, the mare shifted her stance. Trying her best to ignore not only the squishing of the soft ground her hooves, but the mental picture of what that mud could be doing to her beautiful fur. She was growing tired of the cold baths to banish the mud from her fur, but she refused to walk about with it clinging to her.
The thought of doing such a thing disgusted her.
