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Thick tangles of heavy sodden mane matted against the bowed carriage of her elegant neck; and the narrow pinch of crest crawled high along the neck’s arching peak to form the poll between two cupped, black-rimmed ears, all of which were mostly hidden beneath the forward drape of dense, saturated grey forelock. Where normally the hair would curtain tastefully across her large creamy, almond shaped eyes, it clumped clumsily behind them, weighed down heavily by the rain. Little streams poured down through her forelock, and across the flat slope of her cheeks; likewise, water spurted to form a liquid beared from her chin, and still again as thin fountains from the tufts of hair dressing her pasterns. The downpour seemed relentless, and while saturated to the bone and shivering against the unavoidable chill in the sunless shade, Africa appreciated every drop as sustenance for her beloved flowers and plants.
While her smile lingered; suspended in waiting as she studied the other horse for sign of reaction or expression, Africa shifted her weight to mask the discomfort budding beneath the pallid mare’s somewhat critical stare. Highly emotive, and of a naturally forthcoming nature, Africa found her thoughts squirming insecurely as the other mare’s indifference chewed through her gullible, and otherwise optimistic young mind. Don’t judge a book by its cover, she reassured herself silently blinking for a second to regroup the confidence which apparently was so easily discouraged. You are being over sensitive, she scolded, forcing still a brighter expression to lift the unfortunately sombre atmosphere. The sincerity of her gesturing seemed to do little to ease her company's somewhat, ridged posture.
The other horse glanced heavenward, and naturally Africa’s pale eyes followed, squinting through thick black lashes at the bleak carpet of murky grey in her sky- or that which she could spot through the wilting, Autumn canopy and pines. She shrugged inwardly, and subconsciously fluffed the lace-work of feathers across her wings. Beads of rain sprayed from the waterproof sheen, glistening in the half-light.
Africa lowered her face again to find the strange horse had already looked away. She was sidestepping and her eyes watched a cascade of water pool in the mud beside her hooves. Different, She pondered, briefly scanning the puddle also, before tracing the buttery hued mare’s mud-stained legs upwards to once more find her face. "No," Africa heard finally and her ears fluttered forward eagerly, though the response was short and she thought prematurely, indirect. "But it’s perfect for ghosts and ghasts like myself." The young grey’s withers flinched hesitantly, mostly unsure what to make of this rather peculiar creature. In all honesty, Africa had no idea what a ghast was and could not place any sort of understanding around its use in this instance. “Oh, I see...” She said cautiously, recalling Kri’s warning and shuffling subtly so that there was a fraction more distance separating them. Perhaps this ghast shares some affiliation with the Basin. Tilting her face with new caution, she peered sidewards at the ghast. She wasn’t intimidated so much as suspiciously confused.
“Sooo,” She began again slowly, still staring sceptically through her right eye. “What brings you to Helovia’s border?” Africa really didn’t know how else to direct the path of the more or less, one-sided chat- her childlike perception certainly felt it to be that way.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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![[Image: 515b833f251f3]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/515b833f251f3)
