Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm - £1,200

‘In the hush of the turning year, when summer's last breath hangs golden in the trees, the Emberwatch Hare appears.

They say he rises only once each season’s end, from beneath the red-leafed bracken where fire meets soil. His fur burns with the colours of fading blooms—russet, crimson, and flame—and wherever he treads, the plants turn to shades of sunset, as if answering an ancient call.

The golden leaves that arc above him are said to be his canopy, ever following, ever sheltering. Some believe he keeps time for the wild world, marking the moment when light begins to lean toward winter. Others say he waits—listening for a wind that signals change.

Silent, steady, and watchful, he is the keeper of endings that bloom quietly into new beginnings.’

 Story by Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm - £1,200

‘Long ago, when the forests were thick with mist and the trees spoke in creaks and whispers, there lived a hare unlike any other. Her fur was not fur at all, but a cloak of burnished petals and curling leaves. She was called Brackenheart, for it was said that her very soul was rooted deep in the fern-choked woods where she was born.

No path led to her glade, and none who sought her ever found her. She appeared only to those who were lost - not in direction, but in spirit. With a single bound, she could leap over sorrow, and wherever her feet touched the earth, flowers bloomed, even in winter’s grip.

Legends say Brackenheart carries the memory of every season in her pelt and the promise of renewal in her stride. To see her is to remember something you thought you'd forgotten; some deep, old joy buried under the clutter of days.

And if you're lucky enough to glimpse her, mid-leap beneath the arching leaves, don’t follow. Just watch. Let her remind you that the heart, like a bracken root, can find its way back through even the darkest soil.’

Story by Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm - £1,200

They say that hares can hear the whispers of time, the echoes of what has passed and the hush of what is yet to come. This ones sits poised among the flowers, head tilted slightly as if listening to something just beyond the reach of human ears. The sky, a blend of soft blues and warm pinks, holds no answers, neither the certainty of day nor the hush of night.

Some say that in this fleeting moment, when time stands at the edge of change, the hare is neither here nor there. It waits between worlds, caught in the hush before fate takes shape. To see such a hare is a rare gift. If you listen closely, perhaps you, too will hear the quiet song of the horizon.

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Board. Framed in white wooden frame. Board size - 50cm x 40cm. Framed size - 54cm x 44cm - £450

In the depths of the quiet night, beneath a velvet blue sky stitched in stars, walks Fyneth Fox - a creature of hush and shadow, known only in whispers.

He is the keeper of the Night Garden, a place that blooms only when the rest of the world sleeps. The tall flowers that surround him are deep blue and indigo, their petals folding open to the moonlight, casting soft glows that dance along his fur. His white chest, marked with glimmers of blue, catches their reflections , not merely of light, but of forgotten dreams and unspoken wishes.

Fyneth moves silently between the stems, never disturbing a leaf. Some say he listens for the stories the flowers tell in their sighing hush. Others believe he carries those tales on his fur, and if you’re very lucky. you might catch the scent of midnight blossoms on the wind and know he has passed by.

To glimpse Fyneth Fox is to be reminded that not all beauty blazes. Some of it glows quiet and deep, hidden in the folds of the night.

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 60cm x 60cm. Framed size - 65cm x 65cm - £590

In the hush of the deepest hour of night, when the stars lean low and the breeze stills to listen, the Meadow Muse stirs. She is not just a hare, but a keeper of dreams and old floral wisdom. A creature woven from twilight and the memory of blooms long faded.

It’s said she appears only in wildflower fields untouched by time, where the petals whisper forgotten tongues and the pollen hangs like stardust in the air. The flowers around her bend slightly in her presence, as though paying homage. She does not speak, but her silence hums with ancient melodies - lullabies of the soil, the roots, and the moon.

Those who see her often wake with paint on their fingers, poems in their heads, or music in their ears; touched, however briefly, by her quiet enchantment. For the Meadow Muse does not visit by chance; she chooses the ones most in need of inspiration and leaves behind only a drift of white petals and a feeling of sudden clarity.

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in a pale green tray frame. Canvas size - 41 cm x 61cm. Framed size - 49.5cm x 64.5cm - £750

‘Beyond the iron gates of an ancient garden, where ivy curled over forgotten pathways, there lived a fox known only as the Florist.

Clad in a well-tailored coat and a waistcoat brushed with the hues of autumn, he moved through the tangled greenery with quiet purpose. Upon his head sat a weathered top hat, from its brim delicate flowers bloomed in perpetual splendour, their petals swaying as if caught in an unseen breeze.

The Florist understood the language of roots and leaves, the silent wishes of blossoms yet to bloom. Wherever he walked, the garden responded, vines bending toward his touch, petals unfurling in his shadow.

Some whispered that he had never been born at all, but instead stepped from the pages of an old botanical sketch, a creature conjured by ink, imagination, and the wild, unbroken spirit of nature itself.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - MacLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in a pale green tray frame. Canvas size - 41 cm x 61cm. Framed size - 49.5cm x 64.5cm - £750

‘In the same overgrown garden where the Florist walks, another fox moves with quieter purpose. Her coat is the soft green of moss in shade, and from the brim of her worn velvet hat blooms a single peach-toned rose, curled as if listening.

They call her the Green - Hatted Fox. She does not summon blossoms like her companion, but listens for the ones that bloom in secret. Where he stirs colour into life, she follows the hidden pulse beneath leaf and root.

Some say she arrived with the first frost, others that she was always there, just waiting to be seen. The garden knows her. Stones warm where she steps. Forgotten seeds remember their names.

At dusk, she and the Florist often walk together - no words, no hurry, just the soft hush of petals opening in their wake.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 60cm x 60cm. Framed size - 64cm x 64cm - £590

‘When the autumn winds sigh their last and the winter hesitates at the threshold, there comes a strange and fleeting season - the time of the Pink Fall.

In hidden glades where the sun still lingers, the trees do not shed their leaves in gold or rust, but in a flush of vivid pink, as if the earth itself has blushed at the change.

It is in this world of fleeting colour that Rosebrim appears. His paws tread softly upon the bright leaves, his fur touched with the same warmth of the fading sun.

They say he is the keeper of the in-between, a wanderer of seasons who never stays too long in any one world.

Those who catch a glimpse of him know they are standing at the edge of something rare - a moment where autumn and spring reach for one another, and time itself takes a breath before the frost settles in.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - MacLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm - £750

‘When the sky blushes with the deep pink of a waking dawn, the meadow stirs with whispered stories. It is said that in the fleeting moments before the sun crests the horizon, the Dawnshadow hare appears; a creature woven from the night’s last breath and the day’s first light. Her fur blooms with flowers that drank from the stars, their petals glowing softly as they cling to her like embers of the fading dark.

 The old ones tell that she is neither bound to the night nor the day, but belongs to the edge of both. She moves silently through the meadow, the golden and pink blossoms at her feet leaning toward her passing like old friends. The sky follows her, deepening and softening, as though reluctant to lose its final touch of darkness.

 To see the Dawnshadow hare is a rare blessing. They say her presence promises a day of gentle skies and golden light, though she never lingers. For just as the sun rises, she vanishes into the brightening world, leaving only the memory of the stormy pink sky and the wildflowers that dared to bloom in the shadows.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in a pale green tray frame. Canvas size - 41 cm x 61cm. Framed size - 49.5cm x 64.5cm - £750

‘In the Quiet corners of Devon’s ancient woodlands, where moss carpets the earth and wildflowers bloom unseen, there is a legend of a most curious fox.

Unlike his kin, who thrived on cunning and chase, this fox was drawn not to the hunt, but to the mysteries of the green world.

Clad in a fine waistcoat and jacket, he wandered the forests with a leather-bound journal, sketching each leaf and bloom with meticulous care.

Some say he could speak the language of plants, whispering ferns and coaxing secrets from ivy-clad ruins. Others believe he was once a Victorian botanist who, lost in his studies, was transformed by the magic of the land.

But whether fox or man, his work remains - pressed flowers found in forgotten books, their names inked in elegant, untamed script.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm - £1,200

Deep within the tangled heart of the old wood, where the trees whisper in voices long forgotten, the Hollowshade Hare watches with knowing eyes. Its fur, woven from autumn’s final leaves and spring’s first buds, shifts with the turning of the seasons, never quite the same twice. Some say it is not merely a hare, but the spirit of the wood itself - a keeper of paths that no longer exist on any map.

Travellers who stray too far into the undergrowth sometimes catch a glimpse of it, a flicker of warm gold against the deep blue hush of dusk. If they follow, the world around them seems to change. Familiar trails twist into stange new routes, and the wind carries echoes of voices they almost remember. The Hollowshade Hare never lingers , but those who tread in its wake often find themeselves standing somwhere unexpected. Somewhere they never meant to go, yet exactly where they were always meant to be.

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm - £1,200

‘In the hush of early spring, when the frost still lingers at dawn but the air hums with the promise of warmth, Bramblekin emerges from the undergrowth.

His coat, woven with the blush of new blossoms and the green of unfurling leaves, marks him as a creature of the turning season. But those who glimpse him in the bracken whisper of something older - an ancient rite of renewal, etched into his very form.

Upon his back, half- hidden beneath the petals and ivy ,a pale sigil glows in the moonlight. Some say it is the mark of the earth itself, a sign left by the first thaw to call forth the new season.

Others insist it is a blessing from the spirits of the ferns, a gift for the guardian of Spring.

Whatever the truth, Bramblekin does not linger. He moves between the trees, scattering the petals with his footsteps, leaving behind only the scent of blossoms and the hush of something magical passing through.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - MacLaughlan.