The festival is winding down its final days; the market is surprisingly quiet. A chill brushes its way down the wide, open street, bouncing against the coarse canvas sides of tents and stall covers. It trails its icy fingers down her spine, promising her winter and leaving Antiope with visions of the court blanketed with downy white snow.
There are a few equines gathering around the roaring bonfires, using both the flames and their own cheer to keep away the evening cold. She can’t help the warmth in her sapphire eyes as she watches them—strangers and friends alike—gathering to regale each other with stories; tipping mugs filled with mead to each other like they haven’t just met.
Soon, even most of the stragglers will be gone. They will return to their own courts and warm homes and hearths. She cannot blame them, of course. The festival has brought so many together in a time when it was desperately needed, and they will be able to look ahead to the frost without fear, with less sadness and grief. So she hopes… she hopes.
Antiope brushes shoulders with someone mistakenly on the street, turning down a corner toward the center market where her favorite bakery is. “My apologies,” the Regent says, turning her blade-holding shoulder away so as not to accidentally catch them with the edge of her axe. Her blue eyes are sharp and clear as a winter sea as they land upon the other equine, even in the fading light.
"Speaking."
There are a few equines gathering around the roaring bonfires, using both the flames and their own cheer to keep away the evening cold. She can’t help the warmth in her sapphire eyes as she watches them—strangers and friends alike—gathering to regale each other with stories; tipping mugs filled with mead to each other like they haven’t just met.
Soon, even most of the stragglers will be gone. They will return to their own courts and warm homes and hearths. She cannot blame them, of course. The festival has brought so many together in a time when it was desperately needed, and they will be able to look ahead to the frost without fear, with less sadness and grief. So she hopes… she hopes.
Antiope brushes shoulders with someone mistakenly on the street, turning down a corner toward the center market where her favorite bakery is. “My apologies,” the Regent says, turning her blade-holding shoulder away so as not to accidentally catch them with the edge of her axe. Her blue eyes are sharp and clear as a winter sea as they land upon the other equine, even in the fading light.
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
