And the mane of the horse of light rose upward. She was in full flight, her body returning to the earth, hooves in the quenched grassland. As I watched her it was as of each second had expanded, that time itself had expanded, as if the horse was in the slowest of motion. Her mane, so bright, twisted gaily to form the trunk of a tree, the wispy ends becoming branches reaching outward, a vision of a wintry wonderland upon her great and balanced equine head.