we can't change what stays and what fades away
Even filled with vagrant gourds, the Undergrove is beautiful. Long tunnels lead to caverns lit by bright plants and singing insects; the dappled sunlight that permeates the overgrowth lends an air of magic to the subterranean expanse. The smell of damp earth grounds Amalia; her toes press into soft, dry loam, and she heaves a sigh of simple content, delighted to be alive in a world with so much beauty. It's a perfect day, peaceful even--
--except, of course, for the pegasus who has decided to barge into the underbrush, intent on playful destruction. Turning a sharp corner, Angel and starwhale find themselves faced with the unlikely scene: a winged horse, blue and white and purple, playing... soccer? With hapless gourds. It's enough to make Amalia pull up short, blinking rapidly, bemusement in her face. "Uh.... hello," she calls out brightly, giving the (presumptive) wild animal a chance to recognize her before stepping any closer. "This hardly seems like the kind of place for a creature as handsome as you."
--except, of course, for the pegasus who has decided to barge into the underbrush, intent on playful destruction. Turning a sharp corner, Angel and starwhale find themselves faced with the unlikely scene: a winged horse, blue and white and purple, playing... soccer? With hapless gourds. It's enough to make Amalia pull up short, blinking rapidly, bemusement in her face. "Uh.... hello," she calls out brightly, giving the (presumptive) wild animal a chance to recognize her before stepping any closer. "This hardly seems like the kind of place for a creature as handsome as you."
Amalia
