My autism demands I correct the massive amount of love Trixie is getting, so I wrote a little more on mobile. ^:)
>Night shadowed her figure, and the croaking of frogs and creaking of crickets muffled her hoof-steps.
>The rustling of her cape was hidden by the wind blowing through leaves, and the reflective stars used to garner attention were dulled by the moonless night.
>She scurried from one hay-roofed building to the next, ducking in bushes whenever a lingering shadow passed over her and darting between over-grown back alleys.
>She finally stopped, she was just shy of the town limits.
>Half a dozen homes had been crushed underfoot, and more than a few trees were toppled like dominoes.
>Her gaze didn't linger on the destruction, instead she fixed her eyes on what little remained of her cart darted out it.
>Trampled, smashed to pieces, utterly destroyed.
>Trixie looked at the wrecked pile of her home.
>She poked and prodded the splintered lumber and torn curtain, afraid to get much closer.
>Her magic was feeble, but it sufficed enough to clear away some of the debris.
>Trixie looked mournfully at her whole life- all the photos, knick-knacks, and mementos she had gathered over years and years on the road.
>The best preserved of which lay torn and shattered, smashed into the mud.
>She picked up half a photo of Manehattan that was still covered partially by the remnants of a photo frame.
>Her own reflection hugging what she knew to be Quicksilver, though that half of the photo was gone, stared back at her.
>It dropped onto the rest of the broken junk.
>Trixie's eye caught a box decorated differently from the rest.
>Her stomach twisted into a knot and ice ran through her veins.
>It was grabbed in her magic and yanked out from under a beam that had split the box almost in two.
>It wasn't the beam that had her worried.
>The box was opened, the dozens of pieces of silk cloth taken out, and the protective case stripped away.