In the hour between midnight and dawn when the world holds its breath, a blue horse made of moonlight and deep water moves through the open sky, his mane streaming behind him like the tail of a comet, gold veins running through his body like rivers of ancient fire. He belongs to no one and every place — the spirit of pure freedom given form, carrying on his back the dreams of every sleeping soul below who has ever longed to run without stopping toward the horizon. The golden triskelion marked on his flank is the sign of eternal motion — past, present and future moving together in one endless, beautiful stride — and those who glimpse him in the blue hour between sleeping and waking wake with the unshakeable feeling that something magnificent is still possible.