Close to the green rolling slopes that freshened her with a new vigor, this was the borders of the Heavenly fields. There was a rocky path that twists and turns that made her climb the huge mountain. Angora was tired and restless, but this just threw her over the edge. Aggravating. A princess such as her shouldn't have to climb. Topping all this off, there was a thick fog and it obscured her vision this stupid scenery had out her annoyance higher. She took a few steps and it was gone! The stupid mountain side was gone. She was looking out a grassy waves, and soft breezes.

The sun seemed friendly here, and the grass looked sweeter. Reaching her finely chiseled head to the ground, she pulled the grass from the ground. Her ass swayed subtly back and forth. Lifting her head back up, she took a lusty glance around the scenery. Hmm... No stallions? Her molars chewed through the grass she had in her mouth. Some of the pieces fell from her inky lips and wafted to the ground. She blinked her lashes closed and back open a few times. The sloped side of the hill about three feet behind her, an the fog still sorta thick right behind her. Easily could a horse run into her, but then again, some horses had very good eyesight and her gold coat could be seen.

The girl thought of everything. Horrible things had happened to her the second she entered Helovia. Loki, also known as the black stupid on, had started growing on her, but that was until her mounted her and left her there by flying away. She was forced to give birth to the child, but it had born dead. After that, she traveled to the Aurora Basin and stole Arah. The mare that Angora now dreads the slightest mention of. Oh, how boring that mare had been... After she had had Arah in her grips, she herself was stolen. She was approached in Frostbreath Steppe, by Mauja. She was challenged, but as her lack of fighting skills, she gave her self up with no blood shed. Her freedom was ripped from her as the stallion took her to the Basin. There, a mare named Psyche came. She was ripped open on her right flank, but she eventually escaped them. She had yet to see Loki, and she had yet to exact what revenge she would lay on the Aurora Basin herd. Now, she was here. Her wound had sealed and her frame had shed all the negativity. She was calm now, but it would be disrupted when a stallion would join her.

Sandman I am easily make-believe, just dress me up in what you want me to be. He didn't know why he had come here. The view was pleasant enough, he supposed, and the grass sweet. Perhaps that was enough of a reason. Or maybe you were looking for Florelle, his mind whispered. She wasn't, of course. He hadn't seen the palomino mare since last Frostfall, and didn't really care to find her. Though she had provided a fair amount of entertainment, she had also been far too curious, tearing open old wounds and filling them with salt. No, he had not come here for her. Why then? Did it matter? He supposed it didn't. He was here, and that was all he needed to know. At least, that's what he told himself. He almost doesn't see the mare, blinded by fog and his own thoughts. For a moment, he hesitates. Breathes. His eyes see golden fur, and he thinks of Florelle again. He doesn't want to speak to her, to been seen by her. It would be so simple to turn, make his way back down the mountain without alerting the mare to his presence. Then the veil drops, allowing him to see reality rather than memory. Yes, this girl wears the sun on her pelt, but it is dimmer. The starlight banners he had expected are absent, replaced by curtains of ebony. This is not the shining palomino, but a gleaming buckskin. Still, he lingers in silence, uncertain. Should he approach? Yes, this mare may end up being a pleasant distraction, but she could also be another thorn, stabbing into his mind and demanding more than he can give. The decision is more difficult than it should be, and that is what drives him forward. A foolish fit of spite, or maybe a desperate attempt to recapture who he once was, he doesn't know. He doesn't know much, not anymore. The facade is familiar, comforting, and he allows his mask to fall into place. His head raises, hooves prance, and he strides into view with a display of bravado. Not real, though perhaps it once was, but a beautiful, convincing lie. And should this mare believe it, perhaps he will be able to. He is strong. He is handsome. He is confident. Behind the mask, trapped beneath skin, and flesh, and bone, the real Sandman screams.