Lost and lonely in his little house nestled above the clouds in the Canyon, the Magician looked away from his computer with opprobrium. Having spent a good hour this evening googling his name, he felt a certain restlessness as he gazed over at the Princess Thunderthighs sleeping peacefully in his bed and thought of all the others who had lain there before her...

Once, long ago, he had had better times, having been listed for many years on the much acclaimed Green Porpoise List as the seventh greatest magician of all time in all of the world and now...

Now, he found himself sipping his fifth screwdriver of the evening and absentmindedly waving his wilted wand in the air, and oh, how he wished that he could remember the spell to turn a bullfrog into a fairy.....

Even fairies have to leave the canyon sometimes. And this is what you would have seen this morning if you had flown with her as she wound her way up Fernwood Pacific. At a glance, you would have noticed that the fruit trees in the winter gardens had awakened into a bountiful spray of pink blossoms. And looking down towards the sea, where Stunt meets Saddlepeak, you would have felt the fog flow through your hair and caress your soul as you gazed down on the mountains, a vision in blue. This is the wild woody lilac waking from its long winter’s sleep.

It was early enough in the morning that the fog had hidden all the developments on both sides of the canyon and even the massive human city down below was shrouded in a phosphorescent white. And as she came over the pass, grey wispy mists cleared as though they were curtains opening to reveal grand batholiths rising up in spectacular geological formations, towering peaks and breathtaking striations, and she shivered remembering the ancient dreams from the time of the glaciers. And of course she had heard prophesies whispered by the wet winds but being a sprite she was not much given to reflection or worry.