“Ebonystar Willowlilac shook her mother-of-pearl mane and sighed jubilantly before wearily turning her piercing beige eyes, which shimmered like pools of tormented Bisquick, toward the large maroon pig on the river’s opposite bank. The creature, which shat Rococo harpsichords onto the crowns of unsuspecting crayfish with every step, snorted whimsically at her before the mysterious mare flicked her teeth in moist indifference.”
Only, you know, with less fun, more angst, and at some point the harpsichords tearfully reveal to the pig that they’re pregnant but mummy and daddums don’t approve of the union.