To say the festival was colourful would be the understatement of the century. The ponies alone were a kaleidoscope of colour, mixed in with the more vibrant colours of the tents, flags, banners. They were tempered by the more muted colours of the much more numerous griffons who prevented it from being too garish and made the entire experience a feast for the eyes. While walking through this sea of colour, Handy had learned that the trees of this world, by and large, couldn’t drop their leaves by themselves, a concept that was literally alien to the human, but given that the weather did not work unless people were herding the clouds as one would cattle, he decided not to argue the matter. It was, however, an excuse for excessive festivities come autumn in most places. By the end of the festival, there would be ‘the great hunt’, which consisted of a rather large game of tag that was as much a dance as it was a game involving hundreds of participants in the forest nearby. Apparently, the messing around caused the leaves to fall. Most places these days used magic to cause the leaves to fall, but bollocks to that, for this was a party, and they were going to do it the traditional way.