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Africa had woken early that morning, even before the Throat’s birdlife had been roused into chorus by the first hint of dawn. All was quiet; sombre the young grey had thought- especially after the previous day’s chaotic sequence of events. Somehow, Africa had stepped into the very centre of the building drama. She did not regret stumbling across the escaped filly though, as before yesterday the kingdom’s inhabitants were still alien to her young, unmarked heart. So, with renewed vigour and a newly determined feeling of belonging, she peeled herself from the crushed grass over which she had soundly slept, and shook herself off at length.
There was not much for her to fill each day with since she came to Helovia. Mostly, she busied herself with solitary adventures into the wilderness. One such time Africa had come to grief in the company of an extremely unpleasant horned stallion, and the meek young horse shuddered at the fleeting memory. Even while a thick carpet of grey-white clouds gathered in the shadowy light of pre-dawn, she planned resolutely to return to Helovia’s fringe where she herself had followed Midas’s tender passage home. Her theory was to pay that kindness forward in a sense. So far she was not aware that recruiting was an actual task, performed as duty to one’s home and perhaps rewarded for success. Africa remained for now, oblivious to those trivial workings of her homeland.
Quickly, she treated herself to a sip from the cool (yet strangely sour, after an event that she had not the knowledge of when blood rained from the sky) central lake before committing entirely to her quest back to where her journey all began. Upwards she flew, pressing her great feathered wings skilfully against the gentle wind as it swirled through the oasis, and she climbed quickly to drift northward, just below the bleak layer of cloud. Enthusiasm leaked with each forward lurching flap, and a thick smile carved into her white, narrow face.
Perhaps if she had travelled by foot, the journey to the Threshold might have been far more cumbersome and lengthy, but as she swept aloft, ground was covered quite quickly. Just as the milky pastels of first light seeped into the embrace of sky around her, Africa tucked her wings gradually and began to descend. From her vantage point she could readily see a narrow clearing between the densely clustered pines, and aimed her direction towards it, swooping and levelling, swooping and levelling; losing altitude at a relaxed pace.
Africa came to rest across a patchwork of loosely grassed loam, pausing for a moment to adjust the feathers in her outwardly stretched left wing, which had become dishevelled and uncomfortable during flight. When she had settled, the young mare turned to look about, assess her location and find who might be close by. All seemed relatively quiet, though the first warbling call of a thrush broke the hanging intensity of silence and Africa lifted her face automatically as it did, her ears flickering observantly.
The memory of her first encounter with another in this world fluttered warmly through her thoughts as Africa moved forward into a gentle, swinging walk. Midas had been so kind, generous, and recalling the softly spoken stallion’s invitation to come with him home still struck a giddy excitement in her heart. Although by nature, she was a quietly nervous soul, the dapple grey horse had built a slim barrier of confidence and she wore that now as she strolled, like a cloak of self worth.
As her pale eyes scanned her surrounds, Africa became aware of the presence of another- a snowy white stallion, whose carriage seemed attractive and regal. She watched without prejudice, as he raked the ground beneath him with his hoof- again and again. Perhaps it was the reassuring lack of a forehead-stick that struck a chord in the overly trusting young mare's heart, because she altered her path so that she could meet up with him. Childishly she imagined that they could spend the first hours of this fresh day in each other’s company. “Hello there.” She cooed on approach, so that if her arrival had somehow passed him by unnoticed, the stranger would hopefully not startle. “You look nice!” She offered cheerfully but humbly and with little forethought, for it was that niceness after all, that had compelled Africa over.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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