11-12-2019, 10:11 PM
Sleep came easy to her as it always had. All it took was a cozy nook, a yawn and a whim, and the overo girl would quickly be swept up by the intimate pull of slumber.
It came so naturally, just as a bird to flight or a fish to swim.
In dream’s embrace the world turned over and everything felt right - like all the good things possible - like peace. She could be everything and nothing. She had control, she had power, she had endless possibilities.
It was a limitless world. It was her world. It was home.
Tonight she wove a tapestry of black, cloudless skies and the teals and purples of the northern lights dancing with iridescence through the stalks underfoot. The wind is warm with the impossible scent of lavender and fresh fallen snow and her ears fill with the sound of an unseen ocean.
Atop the crest of a shallow hill is where the girl often stood on nights like these, her chin tilted upward in studious concentration. When she moves it’s deliberate, bending and craning of her neck, using her horn to orchestrate and paint the stars and galaxies as a conductor might lead his symphony. And when she hums her mother’s lullaby, the stars come alive, glowing and flickering with the warmth and sense of familiarity that only home could bring.
She is happy again, and the approaching sound of an unexpected wanderer would not be able to chase that good feeling away. Not tonight, not ever.
TLDR catchie falls asleep, goes to dream world, paints a pretty picture and waits to welcome your pony to dream world.
It came so naturally, just as a bird to flight or a fish to swim.
In dream’s embrace the world turned over and everything felt right - like all the good things possible - like peace. She could be everything and nothing. She had control, she had power, she had endless possibilities.
It was a limitless world. It was her world. It was home.
Tonight she wove a tapestry of black, cloudless skies and the teals and purples of the northern lights dancing with iridescence through the stalks underfoot. The wind is warm with the impossible scent of lavender and fresh fallen snow and her ears fill with the sound of an unseen ocean.
Atop the crest of a shallow hill is where the girl often stood on nights like these, her chin tilted upward in studious concentration. When she moves it’s deliberate, bending and craning of her neck, using her horn to orchestrate and paint the stars and galaxies as a conductor might lead his symphony. And when she hums her mother’s lullaby, the stars come alive, glowing and flickering with the warmth and sense of familiarity that only home could bring.
She is happy again, and the approaching sound of an unexpected wanderer would not be able to chase that good feeling away. Not tonight, not ever.
TLDR catchie falls asleep, goes to dream world, paints a pretty picture and waits to welcome your pony to dream world.
