Seaside Moors Chere, mo lemmé toi

@Erzulie

Something in the air had changed. 

She couldn't pinpoint what it was, having experienced so very little yet, but with the summer's warmth waning, and the days growing shorter, the young filly had begun to notice that with the long nights came a cold, and in the mornings what might otherwise have been dew had begun to turn to frost. In the hazy light of gloaming, she could see her breath on the air, like little clouds of whispers. She exhaled, and watched as the silvery wisp disappeared almost immediately; it wasn't cold enough for it to longer long yet. But the pale sprite of breath was still indication enough to Chacal that change was in the air. 

Still, she padded out along the moors, breathing in the cool brackish air that flitted in from the western coconut grove, feeling herself becoming invigorated by the chill that it sent up her spine. Lazily, a little fly buzzed past her muzle, enticing her to snap at it playfully, missing by a few inches. Willingly following the dizzying, whirling and erratic patterns of the autumn-drunk fly, she whirled and spun, as spry and light on her feet as a fawn prancing through a meadow.