Ahead of you walks a lovely frost-white mare with two ebony wings. Her sparkling, silvery tail and mane are almost painful to look at int he bright sun. Hern horn is short, tpaering to a almost transparent sheel tip, the body smooth unlike a shell's spiral.

You wave, trying to capture her attention. She glances up at you, stops, and allows you to come closer.

"I am Cora," she half whispers shyly, looking as if about to bolt. But she stays still, glancing at you.

You introduce yourself.

"The pasture is full of visitors, so many," she says with a sigh. "Someday all the unicrons will be gone from this pasture and in the endless plains where we were meant to be. The flowers will grow where we walk and the animals will speak."