Fine with me. Word Count: 428
Today she was feeling a little better. At least, she was trying to. After her outburst at Lorenzo that was caused by just a stupid prank, she decided that she was going to try to focus on other events that were going on besides the snow and ice. It wasn’t exactly easy for her, having to go outside just to make sure Magic was okay, but she was learning how to focus more on riding her horse and less on riding him through the snow. Her plan didn’t make much sense to her when she played it back in her mind, but she found herself feeling less stressed today, traveling on the stallion’s back through the meadows of the territory. The weather wasn’t so bad today, and she hadn’t had any sort of bizarre dreams last night. The result was that she was much less focused on the past and more on the future; she knew that Skye would be visiting soon. It had been a while since she and her friend had had their lessons together, and they had agreed at the last one that Skye would visit Crimson Dreams this time around instead of Pixie visiting Cercatori D’Arte.
She slowed the chestnut horse to a walk when she thought she heard the cream-furred female’s voice calling out to her. At first she thought she was just imagining, but then she spotted Skye not too far away, near the boundary lines of the territory. Waving back at her friend to show that she had seen her, she sent Magic into a trot and soon got close enough to see the markings on the book Skye had brought. Pixie halted her steed and dismounted, a grin on her face. “Good to see ya, Skye,” she greeted, briefly hugging her friend before stepping back and glancing at the book in her hands.
“Stuff to tell me?” she echoed, intrigued. “I like stuff! Not that I don’t like learning and all that, but what sort of stuff is going on in your pack?” Being a musician herself, she was always fascinated with what went on in the “pack of artists,” which seemed to have become the unofficial nickname for Cercatori D’Arte. She had once briefly imagined what sort of drama they could get into and had ended up conjuring up an image of two wolves fighting over a paint brush. She doubted that was the case, but even that sort of story would be good to listen to; anything that distracted her from the weather was good to listen to.
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