On a crisp autumn night, under the eerie glow of the harvester’s moon, Merrick, a powerful black stallion, trotted through the forest at the foot of the mountains that lead into the depths of many old dungeons. His sleek, onyx coat shimmered beneath the silvery moonlight, each breath releasing wisps of steam into the chilly air. His hooves crunched over fallen leaves, the sound muffled by the silence of the woods. A chill bit at him, autumn had fallen over the land. It was his favorite season of the year, even if it brought out more animals and creatures.

Merrick was on edge tonight, his sharp instincts picking up something unusual about this night. The moon, large and orange, cast an otherworldly glow over the landscape, and the trees swayed as if whispering secrets. As he entered a clearing, he stopped abruptly. There, standing at the edge of the forest, was a figure unlike anything Merrick had ever seen.

It was tall—taller than any horse—and its head was an enormous pumpkin, glowing softly with the light of the moon. Its body, though broad and towering, seemed to be made of twisted vines and bark, thick and gnarled like the roots of an ancient tree. The figure’s eyes, carved into the pumpkin's face, flickered faintly, as if a low fire smoldered within. Merrick’s ears pricked, and he took a cautious step forward, his muscles tense. The large pumpkin man turned its head slowly, its fiery gaze settling on the stallion. For a moment, neither moved, locked in a silent standoff. But there was no sense of malice in the creature’s gaze, only curiosity and perhaps a bit of ancient wisdom. This was the Harvester. He had shown himself.

The pumpkin man raised one hand, fingers made of thick vines, and gestured toward the sky. Merrick followed the movement, glancing up at the harvester’s moon, which seemed to pulse with energy. It was a deep red, as if the sign of some sort of ancient omen he had heard as a foal. A breeze swept through the clearing, swirling leaves around them in a spiral. The air was thick with magic.

In the stillness of that moment, Merrick knew he was in the presence of something ancient, a guardian of the forest perhaps, awakened by the season and the full moon's glow. Without fear, the black stallion bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect. The pumpkin man’s eyes flickered brighter, as if in acknowledgment, and then, as silently as he had appeared, he turned and walked back into the shadows of the forest, his form blending with the night until only the faint glow of his pumpkin head remained visible, and then that too disappeared.

Merrick stood alone in the clearing once more, the crimson moon watching over him. His heart still raced, but there was no fear—only awe at the strange encounter under the moon's mysterious light. With a final glance toward where the pumpkin man had vanished, Merrick trotted away, knowing that he had witnessed something magical, a secret of the forest only revealed to those who dared to wander under the sky tonight.