“Terryn,” the stallion heard his name through the bliss of his dream. “Terryn!” The voice called again, this time with a bit more urgency than before and was followed with sharp prods in the flank.

Before the black stallion even had a chance to open his eyes, he was bombarded with moth dust up his nostrils. With haste, the stallion sat up and began sneezing. Between his bouts of sneezes, Terryn was able to make out the shape of his friend and pet, Mothman, standing with his little bug legs crossed as he looked at his owner in annoyance.

“Happy to see you awake. Did you see what happened to all of our gear?” The moth gestured towards the pile of sparkling swords, shields, and rations bags. Mothman rested a small insect foot on his face as he watched the tobiano horse hold back a laugh.

With a sigh, Mothman dropped his foot and took to the air once more. “This is a joke to you, isn’t it? Pixies got to our gear while we were resting and this is funny to you??”

“Mothman, calm down. We get an extra rest taking these gems off the blades, but like… I think keeping them on the hilts and on the bags and everything would be kind of fun. We’ll be the talk of the town, dontcha think?” Terryn nickered as he went up to the swords and began scrapping of the gems as he could.

“Sure, because every brave adventurer loves knowing their stuff was messed with in their sleep.” Mothman grumbled as he joined his owner in removing the gems from the blades. “I suppose they do make the hilts look pretty neat though..”

“That’s the spirit, Mothman!” Terryn chuckled.