The Glade
It was a dark and stormy night. Thousands of magpies descended upon the lone hut as darkness robbed the interior of any appearance of hope or visitation. The hut sat alone, a stark reminder of civilization, and the falling leaves outline a tall horse, twenty hands high, standing alone outside the hut. Unkempt, with bloodied hooves, the dark horse trod silently around the hut, sometimes stopping to dig, sometimes sniffing the air, never quite resting as his rounds left soft marks in the hard dirt. Music came from behind the hut – rollicking, mysterious, energetic music, that crafted hints of hope and solace and caused the falling leaves to dance and sway in time with the cacophony. The frame of the horse changed not one iota - and yet the horse appeared drawn to the source of the music. The circles about the hut the horse had made became larger until the horse came upon a mostly-abandoned glade. Row upon row of neatly painted grass swayed in tune with the powerful audition of energy...