Fairspell Meadow spirited away

A luminous evening sun had painted the terrain in shades of salmon and tangerine. The sky overhead danced with a flood of thick storm clouds, carrying the weight of millions of droplets within its breast. Spring had allowed for the grass to grow tall and wild, filling the meadow like a crisp ocean of green and yellow. While it was not yet time for them, the berry bushes that lined the edges of the territory were budding with the promise of new fruits; the Traveler had taken an interest in these.
 
The stallion stood with a swishing tail, lips mulling over the prickly branches with care. He sought any that might have formed early but was finding only a few that were worth his attention. The sun struck against the sharp contrast of white and russet along his body, but the Traveler only enjoyed the warmth that it offered. Picking further at the berry bush, the steed swiveled his ears atop his crown to catch signs of any approaching predator that might threaten his feast.
 
When the pinto had grown tired of his search, he turned his attention to the lengthy grass. Each plodding step was accented by a tugging of the earthly greens.