It was an unusually warm day, for winter.
In Denocte.
So the dark-colored equine had happily taken advantage of it, snatching a few estranged bits of herbage that they could find outside the keep and tucking them safely away, now that they were freed from the snow, before heading off for a visit to heights that usually left them frozen where they stood.
The Mountains were too cold in winter, even for them.
But not today.
Today, they seemed to have the endless expanses of mountain stone to themselves, their voice ringing out in an echoing refrain as they sung no particular music, simply ditties of their foalhood and whatever peculiar strains of music wound their way into Seree's head at the time. Half of them made no sense, seeming to come to their consciousness by some strange feat of magic, perhaps. Because honestly, why were they dropping blind people? The music made no sense, but they swore they'd heard it at some point, and the lyrics seemed inescapable, painting the inside of their cranium with their melody and beat despite Seree having no real knowledge from whence they came.
So, questioning such things no further, Seree took advantage of the warm day and lovely acoustics, and danced.
They were so consumed by their solitary dance that they failed to notice the approach of any, consumed utterly by the music in their mind and heart, the way their beats and song echoed upon the mountain ranges and how the stone echoed it back to them. Consumed wholly by the dance as they dipped, trotted, passaged, piafed, spun, twirled, all of the above and none, nothing but their lone song surrounding them, joyous in their carefree celebration of nothing and everything, a celebration of a warm day in winter.
@Mikhael
