Fairspell Meadow If the heavens ever did speak

So happy!

As the thick brush turned into rolling hills of the meadow, bright fall colors appeared to drape the scenery in their glory. Lilac and rosebud clouds floated across the rays of ochre fire that seemed to seep from the edge of the horizon, aptly painting the clouds in their path a lovely shade of red. The warming light turned Semira's pelage to that of a deep copper, her eyes mirroring the sunset she trailed. Tonight, she would follow the sun until it left her too, then she would wait patiently until it decided to rise once more – as she did every night now.

Each delicate step brought her closer to the dark umber and navy of nightfall. Mira's plume hung low behind her - gently swaying in the cold breeze that promised the stars would appear soon. Her breath came out in small puffs of vapor – another reminder of the slow approach of winter. The fae’s eyes slid along the horizon, storing the picturesque image in her mind.

Her amber eyes narrowed as they caught on something different than the grasses and trees.
A silhouette sat on a knoll ahead of her, merely watching the last of the sun as it dipped behind the tree line. She squinted at the figure as they sat down upon their haunches. She did not understand why she became so intrigued, but she wanted to speak to the wolf. She wanted to hear another’s voice, if only for a moment.
Mira’s steps hastened as the finial violet rays of sunlight gave way to the obsidian of night. She neared the wolf as a single star turned into thousands.

That was the moment when she recognized him.

A chuff, more similar to a strangled choking noise, escaped her maw. Merely seconds later, she pounced on him, yipping like a young pup. Mira nearly knocked them off the hilltop in her movements, but eventually found herself able to release him long enough to get out a word, “Horosk?”.