As the afternoon grew old, powdery grey meshed together to wrinkle the tired blue sky, shading the fickle activity in the vast Threshold forest beneath. The shadowy forms of perhaps five ibis flew in beautiful unison before the pale clouds; their formation effortless and exquisite; a spectacle should those primitive ground-dwellers beneath spare the heavens a seconds glance. Few would, they found little interest in a world beyond their reach, their ability and their understanding, it was a select few whose bloodlines had been blended by the Gods in the first and foremost pages of history; with birds, bats and the delicate essence of frail insects. The world now held few of the latter two. Helovia’s intricate Pegasus population had been overwhelmed by feather variations and for the time being it seemed as though their rarer cousins had been overshadowed. Mostly they congregated together, finding comfort by one another’s side and forging their abilities and aptitude into one formidable force- a desert realm, almost untouchable by the horned, cloven hooves of their northern foes; and most anybody else who meant to tarnish their humble, tranquil way of life.

Africa’s pale body slipped aside from the weather beaten track whose parched, cracked surface was scattered with the passing of countless horses before her. She had become somewhat withdrawn in recent weeks, recoiling from the perils which recruiting and general socialisation presented. Many occasions littered her mind with foul, distasteful experiences and unlike the foolish child which had come fresh faced and blissfully ignorant to this wilderness long ago, the dappled creature did not make the same mistakes again and again.
Shrewd pale gold eyes roamed the tree line about her, aware at all times of even the slightest movement- the Twix hoarding a stash of fodder for the winter months; a thrush flitting through the canopy in search of helpless spiders suspended in nest-worthy silk; and even the slithering rustle of a serpent coiling herself beneath the mottled shades of fallen autumn leaves, waiting with cunning patience for the unsuspecting approach of a rodent.

She was in tune with the world around her, vulnerability forcing her evasive skills to mature and flourish although defend she could not. Africa was a gentle mare. Her heart throbbed pure compassion and the art of violence, of war and its conduct did not stir readily beneath the flinch of her apprehensive hide. Like a lamb she walked helplessly, and the shining pink scar glossing the wingless socket of her shoulder was a stark betrayal, announcing to any wily predator that she presented an easy target. The Oracle was not utterly hopeless, she walked so tentatively beneath the constant glare of her mate; her bonded companion, Silas. The Zephyr was not so meekly forged and his virtuous nature saw him dedicate both his heart and his mind to the protection of the one-winged Pegasus. He was her guardian- and their relationship had remained much the same through the many months shared. He swept wraithlike, raven-black and flecked with stars, from limb to limb; bough to bough, above her; always watching the road ahead for sign that his beloved should shrink away into the familiar forest.

Keen ears picked the clattering stumble of solid hoof against fallen, rotten timber, and both the avian’s black beady stare and that pale tender cream of the mare’s, sought immediately the nearby source of the racket in the thicket nearby. Silas went first, his young heart untroubled by that which would be unlikely to reach him, harm him or bother him in any fashion. He found a stallion quickly, sprawled across the forest floor- right where the log had caught him. There seemed nothing ominous about the ebony beast; his wings were open, glossy black feathers much like his own reaching helplessly to find some balance to late, the mass of thick tangled hair burying his bulk- the Pegasus looked rather like a corpse. Alighting in a tree above, the Zephyr cawed gently as his softening gaze studied the unusual scene.

Africa came soon afterwards, though her approach was measured, with timid steps and waning, shallow breath. Immediately she could see that the other horse had tumbled and while her kindly heart lurched to help, her legs froze a safe space away. Rattling nostrils tested the air while cautious ears danced uncertainly through the unruly snarls of oily grey mane dressing her poll. “Hello there?” Her face was tilted towards the stallion while her well built though lithe frame clenched- should the need to flee with haste arise. “Are you alright?” Her voice was soft and sweet, her tone clean and without malice. Should he be another built with broiling blood and a foul spirit, the young grey would dissolve quickly, right the way she had come.