A breeze drifts over the Basin, smelling oddly sweet and aromatic, a strange experience in this winter waste. Despite that much, nothing seems inherently peculiar; squalls are a common occurrence this far north.
Closer inspection will reveal the lazy arrival of a bright blue butterfly. It drifts on the wind that billows past, wings fluttering haphazardly with no true control. As it would happen the wind casts the small insect upon the brow of the pegasus mare. It settles comfortably on her forehead, wings gently rising and falling in slow tempo. Its tip may brush her hide just barely, but any touch would be only the slightest of kisses.
Nothing out of the ordinary still, it would seem.
Empty tables and chairs [Crowley,open]
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01-27-2013, 02:59 AM
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