The painter sat, arms crossed, face scrunched together, staring at a blank canvas. He couldn't think of anything to paint; inspiration was nowhere to be found. Outside his house, a small little cottage in Switzerland, he exposed himself to some of the most beautiful scenery in the world, but he had painted hundreds of art pieces with those landscapes, and so had everyone else. Sighing, the painter looked up, and to his surprise, saw something pink, large, and four-legged fly across the sky. Instinctively, he grabbed his camera, but by the time he got it out, the creature had vanished.

Puzzled, the painter set his camera back down. When he looked up again, there was something about a hundred yards in front of him. It was pink, large, and four-legged; the same animal that had flown across the sky. Curiously, the painter stood up from his stool and took a step closer to the beast. It didn't seem to notice, and stood staring straight ahead. Step after step, the painter neared the being, until he was only a few steps away. He reached out his hand and touched it. It looked like a horse, only it was pink and a bit smaller, but larger in the stomach area, and, of course, it had wings. The wings were white and feathery-looking, like a bird's. The winged-horse felt soft, like his old grandmother's slippers. It was a beautiful creature.

As the painter scooted inches closer, longing to touch and ride the valiant pony, something began to arise from behind it. Scared, the painter lurched back several feet, as a beautiful redheaded young girl, dressed in an ivory-coloured flowing dress that went to her mid calves. She was barefoot and didn't seem cold at all, even though it was wintertime in the middle of Switzerland and covered in snow that had fallen the previous night. She smiled. The painter smiled back. The girl leaped onto the back of her horse, in-between the wings of the mare, and then stroked its neck gently, pulling the painter on behind her. They flew up, up, up, into the air and across the country and away from his cottage. He saw things he had never seen before, but he was compelled by this young mistress's beauty. They flew around and around and around, never speaking a word.

After a while, the horse grew tired, and it was obvious. The painter said nothing, the girl said nothing, and the winged horse landed in the exact position it had originally taken off. The painter looked to the maiden, who smiled innocently, as she escorted him off her horse. She came closer and closer to his face, and kissed him lightly on the check. Face flushed, the painter bowed his head slightly and sat back on his stool. The lass grinned and took her leave, as majestically and mysteriously as she had arrived.

And the painter painted the girl, forever longing to see her face again.