The ferns provided perfect cover, Lucent had decided. Both he and Sister Borealis had found a comfortable yet covert position at the base of a tall, ageing oak tree. The undergrowth embraced the tree like a dying relative, all congregated around its deathbed to await the giant’s fall. Borealis caressed the trunk, finding that its bark crumbed beneath her hoof.
“Our quarry’s presence has had a terrible effect on these woods. There’s no doubt it’s close, those farmers at least had their wits about them.”
Lucent nodded, though Borealis could only see his sharp, emerald eyes beneath the lunar cloak he wore. She wore the same; a soft, velveteen fabric that deadened noise and allowed a pony to blend into the shadow like a spirit of the night. A gift from their order, amongst many others.
Lucent and Borealis were alike in many ways. Their coats both glinted a soft silver, though they were currently suppressed by their cloaks to hide their presence. Beneath