Dawn had been different back on earth. Fleeting and evanescent, it had glimmered at the start of each new day.

Now it hangs, staining the sky pink and gold and silver. And the fog, like pale gauze, stretched out over the gently sloping hilltops, makes everything look dreamlike. And you can hardly believe that its real.
Maybe that’s why you don’t notice at first–that the Roses and Brambles and Juniper Bushes cling to you and tare at your legs.

Your land is beautiful, glittering in the honeyed daylight. The air is always light with the smells of flowers and dew. But you have thistles in you hair now and yours legs bloom with scarlet gardens of their own.
The sun peaks over the horizon and you have never known a longer morning than this moment in your kingdom of thorns.