🌿 As whispered in twilight breezes and painted in swirling stardust…
Long ago—before our clocks ticked and calendars turned—a herd of magical horses galloped freely through a land untouched by time. This was a wilderness stitched from dreamstuff: emerald hills rolled like waves, waterfalls danced down amethyst cliffs, and groves of silver-leafed trees hummed lullabies to the moon. Some say it lies between the edges of Ireland’s wild coast and the farthest reaches of northern starlit Canada. Others simply call it The Between.
These were no ordinary horses.
“They were wild, wise, and wondrous.”
Each member of the Enchanted Herd was gifted with a soul-deep magic: each one connected to a unique combination of emotions, seasons, intuition, dreams, and the quiet strength of nature. They were wild, wise, and wondrous. And their very presence had begun to awaken hearts… too many hearts, in the minds of some.
Fearing the power of what the herd could inspire—freedom, connection, truth—a trio of enchanters (jealous, power-hungry, and sharp of tongue) cast a cruel spell. In a single shimmer of twisted magic, the Herd was frozen in place—each member encased in painted wood and glossy glaze, bound into the form of a carnival carousel.
They became a traveling spectacle. Parents watched their children ride them, never knowing they were climbing onto the backs of trapped beings. Though the Herd could no longer move or speak, their magic whispered still. And so they waited…for someone who could hear.
“Even when painted still, their hearts beat beneath the wood.”
Years passed. Then one day, a small girl—quiet, but full of wonder—chose the silver-dappled steed near the back. As the calliope music twinkled and the carousel spun, she felt something deep in her chest. Not fear. Not sadness. Just a knowing.
And that’s when she saw it, what others couldn’t: a tear-shaped glimmer beneath one horse’s eye. A nicker hidden in the hush between music-box notes.
The moment her hand brushed the horse’s neck, something stirred. Her open heart, her love, her belief, her ability to see what others could not—cracked the spell. The Herd awoke. Light poured from the carousel. Paint peeled back to release souls and spirits. The carousel shattered in a glittering storm of stardust.
One by one, they leapt from their wooden prisons—not back into the world they’d left behind, but forward into the shimmering grasses and moon-drenched cliffs of their true homeland. Magic flowed into their hooves again. Their stories returned. Their gifts ignited.
The Enchanted Herd had returned. 🐴✨
They galloped back to their homeland, their hooves echoing across dimensions. But they did not forget the girl. Nor the world she came from. In her eyes, they had glimpsed humanity’s capacity for wonder, kindness, and deep soul-hearing. And they vowed never to forget what it meant to be seen—truly seen—and freed.
Now, when the moment is right… when the veil is thin… when your heart aches or your spirit stirs or your dreams shimmer a little brighter than usual…
They return.
Not physically—but through brushes, pens, pages, dreams. And they return, again and again, through the hands of a certain painter who knows how to open the portal between worlds… one stroke at a time.
“Magic remembers even when we forget.”
Each member of the Enchanted Herd carries a gift—an energy, a lesson, a kind of healing hoofbeat meant just for you. Some bring joy. Others clarity. Some bring fierce permission. Others, softness and stillness and sparkly soul-light. They whisper their stories to those who are ready. They lend their magic to those who long to remember their own.
They will come when your soul opens the right portal.
And when they do… a hoof might nudge your path, a mane might brush your cheek, a shimmer might bloom in your chest.
And you’ll know.
You’ve met one of the Herd.
The Enchanted Herd gallops through the portal of my paintbrush and pen… but their final destination is always you.