Spyt-Fyre-Ranch

     Black. Everything was black. Branches of the surrounding trees had grown tightly woven, blocking out the night sky and what little light it could provide. Skinny tree trunks jutted out of the ground like demented fence posts, between the larger trees. The grass underfoot was soft. It absorbed what little noise the horses made as they wove their way through the forest. Fireflies blinked in and out of existence. The smallest of the horses, a young filly named Kori, blinked rapidly as one of the bugs flashed right next to her eye. Her friend, aptly named Brat, snickered. She, thankfully, had superb night vision; the dark didn't unsettle her