we've not yet lost all our graces

How bizarre, this pallid land was. Everything was bleached bone white, and for some reason nothing dared to try and regain their colour. Creamy white, petite paws quietly struck the terra as eyes the colour of late twilight drank in the mysterious scenery. Gold dipped audits were shoved forward, searching for sounds to tell whether or not this was actually a dream. A thorn from an ivory vine dug into her pad, and the English lass bit back a yelp as she shook her paw free. Frowning, she found herself assured this was real. Replacing her paw upon the ground a fair distance from the thorny attacker, she continued on.
The whole landscape was magnificent, like nothing she'd ever seen in her life. Her sunshine dipped plume swung back and forth at her hocks absently as she padded along, the whole place, despite it's eeriness, warranted the barest traces of a smile from her. Soon, the trees and their alabaster vines parted to reveal an even stranger sight. Delicate cranium would tilt quizzically to the side, as her blue-violet pools took it all in.
A series of immense stones bearing relatively similar shapes congregated about something, visible as faintly glowing from where she stood. Slowly, she would begin to move towards it, curiosity sparkling in her dark gaze. As the massive stones reared up before her, acute optics found them carved with intricate symbols. How queer. Lifting a cream toned paw, she would reach out to rub her pad along the surface. Sure enough, the bold markings were embedded deep into the smooth grey surface of the rocks. With a quiet sound to bely her intrigue, she would peer around the stone to see what was so important. When her eyes laid upon what the rock goliaths were guarding, a small grin crept onto her dark lips. How terribly interesting. Traipsing across the soft grass towards it, her nose came lower to the ground. Unique as anything, a glowing stream presented itself.
As her muzzle projected over the babbling stream, the gold and ivory dame reached out with a forepaw and touched it to the water curiously. It didn't react, other than a cursory rippling around her toes. Lowering her sunshine striped muzzle to the aqua, her salmon tongue would dart out to taste it. It tasted like just about every bit of fresh water she'd consumed in her life. What was making it do that? Trim haunches would fall to the grassy floor, and she continued to watch the water for signs to bely what made it do that.