She is not so temperamental as some, certainly not so sweet and obliging as others - no. She is a proper wild-child with a head for running and sunbathing and precious little else of real merit. She is as her namesake suggests - Aine the goddess of Summer, Love, Fertility, Sovereignty - represented by a Red Mare and the herb Meadowsweet. She is her own Goddess, galloping across the meadow, past the falls, crossing into the commons before she realizes it.
Her color is like a tongue of flame, so vibrant that it almost seemed unreal, and she is nothing short of a beacon just begging for attention. Her hooves drill into the earth, head tossed up to the sky like the star-gazer she was. While she had never done this so much as to earn a proper ewe neck like her betters - the sensation of flight not entirely to her taste when she was not drunk on her own freedom - she relished it for now.
Young and vibrant, she tires so rarely, speckles shining like stars in the wet sweat of her morning liberations. When she hits the shoreline of the Commons, she is bright of eye and wild of mane, whipped about as it was by her boisterous galloping and occasionally flailed heels. She half-rears, slamming her feet into the last reach of the surf, throwing herself full-neck into a shriek of a whinnying challenge across the salty sea strait before her with a vaguely satisfied look left on her face after the last echo of it had faded away.
She was too young to be terribly attentive to the place she had landed, and slowly as the air-drunk mare soothed down from the heights… she began to realize her mistake.
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