[open] Eyes are the soul's windows...

[Fenestra]

The land was still and silent. Even the birds were yet asleep, except for a single owl that hooted quietly from its perch within the distant tree line. Night slowly released its grasp upon the world, and the first hints of dawn began to appear on the horizon, a pastel glow that spread magically across the snow covered expanse like the flushing of cheeks. As the sun made its entrance, so did a golden mare. A stranger to this land, she had been traveling for four cycles of the moon. The journey had made her fit, fast and keenly observant.

She moves with an unrivaled grace and lightness that make her a pleasure to behold. She exudes an aura of confidence and authority; a sharp juxtaposition with her youthful features and large, kind eyes. It's the aura leaders tend to possess, the good ones coupled with humility and honor. Time would tell if her temperament included such qualities. She arches her neck grandly, tail flagging, and comes to a halt at the edge of the lake. She lowers her lips to the glassy water and takes a long drink. Seemingly endless locks cascade down the sides of her neck and the back of her hindquarters like a frothing golden waterfall, so shiny they’re nearly holographic. Her forelock hangs well beyond the end of flared nostrils.

An eclectic heritage is evident in every muscle of her sleek, lissome body: Iberian Horse, Crabbet Arabian, Akhal-Teke, Marwari, Noriker, Spanish Mustang, Gypsy Cob. So far removed from the purebreds of her past, she might as well represent a new breed. The mare is neither tall nor short, standing at a respectable 16.0 hands. Despite a baroque silhouette, she is not heavy or course like some drafts. She has a long, snaking neck with a high, arched crest. Her powerful, leanly muscled hindquarters convey youth and fertility. Strength is apparent in the width of her chest, depth of her heart girth, spring of her ribs and circumference of her cannon bones. She might pass for a full-blooded Iberian if not for her delicately chiseled features, inward-curving ear tips, exotic coat color and the silky feathering that runs down the backs of her cannons.

Her mane and tail are exceptionally long and lustrous, and her coat sparkles in the light with a healthful iridescence. Their metallic luster is reminiscent of the legendary Akhal-Teke horses of the Turkoman desert. The sheen is so intense that her mane and tail might as well be liquid gold, the varying vibrant shades of highlights and lowlights giving her hair a streaked appearance. Her eyes, like deep, clear pools littered with icy sapphires, glitter with an inner charisma. Those long-lashed, wintery eyes are framed by thick black eyeliner akin to what white-faced horses are sometimes blessed with, although she has no white markings herself. There was nothing supernatural about these qualities, on the contrary they were the result of a unique blend of genetics. Magic, or a lack thereof, was the very reason she stood in the field this day.

The flick of her expressive ears betrays the subject of her attention: You.