The wind blows through the treetops of the Autumn Court, making leaves of umbre, gold, copper and crimson flutter to the ground; they pile beneath the trees in tidy mounds. As if they were waiting for someone to leap into their open arms, letting them fly through the air once more before disappearing to their home in the dirt. The days in the Autumn Court are milder than the ones of the Summer and Winter Courts. The temperate air of mid-morning soon gives way to the chill of the afternoon, which will in turn make room for the cold that seeps in after the sun disappears behind the horizon. A far cry to the seemingly never ending days in the Summer Court, and the long nights of the Winter Court. The cycle of falling leaves repeats day after day, only breaking when rain falls. The perpetual breeze makes sure the ground never gets too hot, and the cold evenings make sure that all the leaves turn; the green seeping out of them to keep the forests ablaze with fall colors, all before the dawn breaks. 

The perpetual ring of autumn is comforting to the fae that live here, and the bounties which fall brings are what keeps the Autumn court lively enough to compete with the others. Vast swathes of trees are broken up by small farming communities, and farther north is where all the high fae congregate around the Lord in his castle. The busy streets that surround the capital are a stark contrast to the quiet dirt roads lined with tapped trees. 

It’s amongst these trees that sits a cottage, made of stone tilled from the ground long ago, vines of wild flowers climbing up towards the wooden roof, with a round door facing the westward rising sun. And not far from this cottage is an expansive clearing, full of weeds and animals. The trees of the Waning Forest stop at a fence, only their branches reaching hopefully past the posts towards the break in the canopy. It's in this clearing that much of the livestock that supports the local fae with their meat and cheese reside. Goats roam the pastures, followed by a timid flock of sheep. A llama or two wanders the edge, keeping an eye on the ever moving flock, and another eye on the forest for signs of danger. It’s the meat and milk  from the sheep and goats that is processed at the aforementioned cottage, by the two fae that live there. 

Amongst the bleating sheep and the cries of the goats the owners make their rounds. Long legs and long snouts, one with a long curly coat, the other with a short one, run alongside the animals and nip at each other's heels. They play amongst their livestock in the shape of dogs. Soon laughter fills the air as the tawny brown colored dog rises to its hind legs, and in a brief smoke filled flash a tall willowy woman appears, falling to the ground. Her long curls fan out onto the grass around her, her laugh filling the air with joy as the other dog, with the curly coat, skids to a halt beside her. In another mist-filled flash a stout woman kneels on the grass next to her kin, her own copper hair matching the others in both length and curl. 

“Niiaaamh, that’s not fair! You know you got a head start, that’s the only way you’d beat me, you know.” The stout woman complains, falling on top of Niamh, who is still giggling in the grass. She draws out her name in a whine,”Neev!”  as the girl continues to laugh below her. 

“Saoirse,” Niamh replies, echoing the whine of her sister, drawing out the syllables of her name, suuuuuur- shuh. “I did what was right, I do not want to churn the butter for the fifth day in a row. Some might call it clever of me.” Niamh giggles out, the adrenaline from their impromptu race making her breathless and light headed. She reaches up to pet her sister's hair while cooing apologies to a disgruntled Saoirse. 

Soon warmth of the afternoon seeps into the ground as both fae lay there bickering about chores, the time passing them by before they even realize. Niamh looks up at the sky from her lying position, much the same as it was after the race, though Saoirse has long since changed her position to lay her head on her sister's stomach; with her hands resting comfortably across her own midriff. The sky is now dyed red and pink, signaling the duo of the nearing nightfall. Niamh sits up, causing Saoirse to sit up along with her, grumbling as she did. 

“I’m going back home to light the hearth, it’s your turn to herd the flock.” Niamh says, turning quickly and taking off, her skirts fanning out behind her, and her bare feet thumping against the ground. She spares a glance back at her sister, revealing a mischievous grin before she disappears over the fence and into the trees. Saoirse lets out a cry of dismay at her sisters retreating back and watches as the fire red of Niamhs hair eventually blends in with the trees. 

 Saoirse sighs, though she can’t bring herself to really be mad. This is how their days are, usually. Friendly competition to decide on chores and spending the rest of the hours of daylight laughing amongst the trees and grass. To her credit Saoirse wins a majority of their competitions, being the stronger and faster of the two. Saorise was blessed with a shift that didn’t quite match her normal appearance. Not that her looks were anything to turn your nose up at, but she is far from the tall willowy figure of her sister, the one that is in fashion. She’s short, by fae standards, only standing a little taller than a sapling, with wide hips and tan skin. On the other hand her sister could easily reach the lowest branches on the tallest oak tree, something that had made Saoirse jealous as a youngling. But in her shifted form she was taller than Niamh, her canine appearance is lean with strong legs, though her coat made problems for her when she ran too far into bramble patches. But that being said, she is a merciful winner and often takes the more labor intensive tasks in favor of leaving the more labor- light tasks to her sister. 

A sudden gust of wind makes gooseflesh rise on her arms, and she looks around to the wandering livestock. Some are picking at wild flowers, grass, and twigs. While others are munching the leaves off of bushes pushing through the fence. She smiles at the flock and gives a whoop, before running toward the herd of animals. Mid stride Saoirse shifts, a pop echoes followed by a cloud of mist that settles on the ground. She takes off in a gallop around the flock, her curly coat of russet and white shifting with her as she changes from one direction to the next while gathering up sheep. With her added height, Saoirse easily stands 3 feet above the sheep, making it easy to nudge them into place. She heard somewhere that humans from beyond the Veil use dogs like her to race, she doesn’t quite understand why. That may not be accurate information though, as only a few fae are allowed to pass the Veil into the human realm so rumors easily become twisted as they travel along the grapevine.

Saoirse chitters at the sheep, continuing to herd the livestock closer and closer to the barn situated on the far side of the enormous clearing. The wooden door is open when she gets there, making it easy for her to funnel the herd into their home for the night. She takes in the familiar scent of hay and lanolin as she nudges a particularly stubborn lamb into place with her flock. Once she’s counted heads, and takes a lap around the clearing to make sure no one’s escaped her, she makes for the door of the barn to check if it’s secure when something stops her in her tracks.