Common

The foliage has shed its vibrant greens in favor of fiery colorations; orange, red, and yellow. Despite the warm colors, there is a biting chill that infiltrates the surroundings. Flared nostrils expel a faint puff of vapor as her warm breath mingles with the cooled air. Mephit’s lips were curled into the shadow of a frown. Despite it being a frequent expression of hers to carry, this time, it is caused by her disdain for the cold. The blonde mare isn’t accustomed to climates that shift so drastically. She was raised where the weather was relatively fair all year ‘round, even the winters were mild.

She lets out a sigh, thankful that she had endured the swim days prior, before the chill began to set in. It was a pristine, autumnal day; leaves falling gently from their perches, dancing across the meadowlands on brisk breezes. Some had snagged on her blonde locks, entwining in the tangles that ripple and twirl as she walks, brown-tipped ears swiveling as she walks by other horses. Some were in groups, engaging in casual conversations, others were wandering solo, like she was. Mephit’s amber eyes avoid contact with anyone. She carries herself with a particular, almost strange aloofness and waspish nature. Her steps are heated and swift, as if contempt trails at her heels.