They embarked on a luscious, trepid adventure. Through muddled, twisted creepers they went. It smelled of salt, a slight warm crush, much like the last unicorn. And in the distance there was a strange sound, like the noise at the end of a river. Francis thought about the beasts and the others thought of a ship, a good ship that would take them far away. They discovered that the flowery wars, and the dark and wandering streams were only brambles, vines and creepers after all. The nights were cool, she looked seventeen and she could have jumped that hole in her heart. She could have reached through that coyote fence and found a Heaven, bothered by crazy dreams and visions of darkness beyond just these woods. The journey unfolded, speckled in shadow, the stream spilt towards them. They took turns breaking each other's hearts, but they did it with as much fun as they could muster.
On silent hooves they rode through a land under the very cruelest of love spells. They could not see, but they could feel their way.