As the chill of evening crept in and an orchestra of crickets roused into their nightly serenade, Hasan emerged into the moonlight. The lines of his body were long and relaxed, and his white legs parted the long spring grass easily. He stopped here and there to nibble at its sweetness, before finally settling near the center of the broad clearing. Here there was a slight dip in the earth which collected moisture on wet days; this discouraged anything that was tall enough to tickle Hasan's belly from growing, leaving only a soft bed of moss, which he reclined in now, pulling his legs in neatly against his barrel.

Hasan's eyes shuttered closed and he simply breathed in the night air. All the usual scents, of grass and dirt and salt and horses, drifted past him on a gentle breeze. He resisted the urge to shiver. Winter may have been reluctant to release her claws from the land, but he relished the crisp night air, knowing it would not be long until the Forest withered beneath the sweltering heat of summer. And then it would be autumn again. How quickly the seasons passed as he grew older. It seemed only the blink of an eye ago that he had been cavorting with Marceline and Shenzi among the trees, leaves crunching beneath his hooves as he pressed close against them, their estrus hot in his nostrils. Those days had been an unexpected pleasure: one that reminded Hasan that he was not so old or blind yet that he couldn't still enjoy the charms of mares. Yet already the tangible memory of those physical pleasures was fading.

As Hasan wondered about those mares, and whether his liaisons with them had produced anything other than longing, a flash from overhead drew his attention upward. Then— another. And another. Like sparks they bloomed and faded into the dark, quicker than he could take in breath. He tilted his head, one ear twisting back in bewilderment. Another. And another. Hasan sprang onto all four feet, his chin lifted as if he could touch the inky darkness of the night sky if he only reached far enough. Another flash, then more than he could count, tendrils streaking like fireflies across the abyss of his vision. Then, nothing.

Hasan's heart was racing by this time. He had only seen a meteor shower once before, when he was a colt. They were beautiful, but more importantly:

He had seen.