A Random Event Has Occurred!
As the birds flee from the Solterra mare’s attack, the memory of her whip still echoing through the air. One by one they dart into the forest, until all that is left of them is their cackling laughter and a few stray feathers torn loose from their bodies.
These feathers drift now through the air, agonizingly slow, spiraling and dancing on the spray breeze. They rise and they fall, spinning around one another all the while, as if they, too, are laughing at the first mare’s tumble.
But then the trees shift, their branches part, and a ray of sunlight strikes a single feather.
It catches in midair, frozen.
And then, it begins to change.
It starts at the quill, a ray of light creeping up its base. It leaches up the feather, like blood seeping into paper, until bit by bit of it is transformed. In the time it takes to breathe, the feather has been turned to solid gold.
Only then does it resume its fall, faster than before. It falls and it falls and it falls, spinning past one pair of green eyes before it lands, gently, across the red-eyed mare’s back. Its touch is surprisingly warm and heavy, its vanes still feathery and swaying in the breeze.
The trees shudder again, and more light breaks through the canopy, gilding more and more feathers.
Perhaps if they step in the sunlight they, too, will turn to gold.
These feathers drift now through the air, agonizingly slow, spiraling and dancing on the spray breeze. They rise and they fall, spinning around one another all the while, as if they, too, are laughing at the first mare’s tumble.
But then the trees shift, their branches part, and a ray of sunlight strikes a single feather.
It catches in midair, frozen.
And then, it begins to change.
It starts at the quill, a ray of light creeping up its base. It leaches up the feather, like blood seeping into paper, until bit by bit of it is transformed. In the time it takes to breathe, the feather has been turned to solid gold.
Only then does it resume its fall, faster than before. It falls and it falls and it falls, spinning past one pair of green eyes before it lands, gently, across the red-eyed mare’s back. Its touch is surprisingly warm and heavy, its vanes still feathery and swaying in the breeze.
The trees shudder again, and more light breaks through the canopy, gilding more and more feathers.
Perhaps if they step in the sunlight they, too, will turn to gold.
A few feathers have been torn free in the birds’ attack; as the birds disappear, their feathers remain, floating slowly down to the earth. In midair they are caught in the sunlight, and there they are kissed by magic, magic that turns them to solid gold. They’ll fall around the two horses, a dozen or more surrounding them.
Enjoy!
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