She walked in a twilight tunnel of malachite and emerald. A strong breeze carrying a hint of the dead and dying blew into her face and around her the leaves rustled dryly though they had been verdant when she lay down to rest. Now she walked, a jaunty bounce in her step and a wicked gleam in one white iris'd eye. The foliage around her faded to gold and scarlet and brown, a riot of fall's best colors. Ahead she could hear rushing water and the soil beneath her hooves was soft loam rich with decay that would nourish new growth after winter's rest. She broke free of the trees and had to quint into the brilliant sun as it crested the horizon, painting the sky in fading blues and lavenders, edging clouds with gilt.
There, silhouetted against the sky, was the castle robed in ivy. It had haunted her dreams for years now. The roar of the nearby river was familiar, like an old friend. Lucky she was that she knew the difference between dream and reality. In no dream was the air so crisp and the ground so solid underfoot. Let others have their dreams- she would take reality with all it's highs and lows. Let her bones ache- every year she'd lived was worth the weight it put on her shoulders.
The mare drops her sturdy head for a moment, brushing her face gently against the inside of her leg. The sensitive skin feels the slightly crusty layer of paint that colors the hairs on her face in vibrant sunset hues like that of the king bird who guides her. He isn't here today, in the tree behind her left shoulder. That too tells her that this is no dream. Her broad, charcoal dipped wings fan out as much as the trees will allow and then snap tight to her muscular barrel.
Tlilopotonqui is not one to wait to be invited in. The gods had led her here and on that authority she moved into a ground eating trot. Her mane and tail fluttered in the autumn wind like tattered banners, signaling no truce but peace none the less. The ceramic pots on their string rattle gently against each other and her shoulder- she moves in the open, with no attempt at stealth. She is not trying to take the Court by surprise.
After all, if she intends to be here a while it is better not to appear as a sneak in the night. Instead she moves across the field towards the keep in a shaft of early morning sunlight that creeps between the towers and rooftops to light her path.
