A clamor of hooves disrupted the young mare, and she looked behind her to see a stallion that vaguely resembled a candy cane coming towards her.

She flicked her feathered tail and turned back to the lake.

"Watching," she answered, her voice thick like honey. "And waiting."

It was dark, and the glade was silent besides the croaking of katydids and crickets. The lake rippled under a brilliant harvest moon, a fine sheet of gold laid out to welcome guests. The grass waved in a cold breeze, whipping this way and that in an effort to remain stationary. If it wasn't so cold,...