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Flicking her tail idly, the young dapple grey rocked her weight to the left and relaxed her right hoof at a chilled tilt. The flimsy golden brown autumn canopy above their heads offered little respite from the steady drum of rainfall, and Africa was more or less saturated. She remained optimistic though, despite the dreary grey atmosphere, and made a special point to display that openly across her snowy white complexion. The flicker of another caught her eye and one ear strayed to track the strange horse’s route through the dense clutter of trees not far away. The Threshold’s majestic forest was known throughout Helovia to be a bustling highway of sorts, luring weary travellers from the furthest reaches of Loorien, and trapping them with the temptation of a future; of magic and wealth beyond measure. Africa, though not quite so unsuspecting as the majority she came across here, had succumbed just the same as the greater population- there was no escape.
"I didn't choose to come here but rain is a pretty good incentive to find somewhere. I have to say though that I've never heard of this.... Helovia, was it? Care to enlighten me?" The Ghast said at length, and Africa nodded cooperatively.
At the prime old age of three, Africa had broken the shackles binding her naive soul to Nyorm and fled through the night to a land crafted by the gilded tongue of her aging mother. In secret, the dream-weaver had cast a web of myth and fantasy throughout the child’s imagination; the seed had been planted- and from then a vine grew to tangle through her very essence, to plague her thoughts and drive her determination. Impressionable and enthusiastic, she had immersed herself in the quest to find reality in those stories, seeking always truth and knowledge; and now she was growing and maturing, becoming her own legend amongst the legends of the fabled Helovia.
My mother always told me stories about Helovia when I was little... “... Helovia is a country governed by the mastery of magic...” She began earnestly, imprisoned by her starry-eyed belief that the very earth beneath their hooves was enchanted beyond her wildest dreams. She had not yet discovered the ins and outs of the concept, but her fascination was ripe and ravenous. “There are four kingdoms,” she recalled, moving quickly with almost sporadic attention between her ideas- she drew on her recent encounter with a stallion called Thor. He had embraced her in a sense, and sampled to her thirsty pursuit to learn, that his home and her own were bonded closely.
“And between these, the land is known as the wilds- many live there also, choosing not to align themselves with a flag for whatever reason. Helovia is vast... ” She declared with a hearty sigh. Africa was more than happy to elaborate, though she paused to peer curiously at her company- offering space for thought or questions if that was her inclination. “I have come from Dragon’s Throat, the desert kingdom to the south. ”
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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![[Image: 515b833f251f3]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/515b833f251f3)
