At last both the stallion so distraught, and the mare whose snide tongue stung the peaceable nature of the prudent Oracle, began to mellow (about-face even), and it compelled a rather relived sigh to pass through the steady return of Africa’s warm smile. She held little animosity for the storm grey mare, Storm aside from the blunt principals which obviously caused her overly confident informality- there was little wrong with such, she knew, but she was neither prepared for someone so guileless, nor used to such ways. Her own method had become more intimate and quiet through recent months, and born from the shade of guilt and disappointment lurking so deep within her bravely optimistic demeanour, Africa was far more guarded and distrusting than ever she had been before. So did follow the consequences of her vulnerability and horrific disfigurement.

They spoke, Windwalker firstly with a noble dip of his glossy black façade and the reiteration of the apology he had before offered to Africa while they had stood alone. Then Storm with the sudden introduction of far milder tones then the one-winged mare could have believed possible. Empathy which had been so scarce mere seconds before began to ooze understanding and sympathy through each of her shining blue eyes, and she stepped closer to the raven stallion while she spoke. In silence Africa watched the proceedings, her mind wandering between the information divulged by the stallion- his lack of social contact for years; and the mare whose attempt to refocus her conduct in to something more enticing, had not quite levelled as legitimate. Many she had encountered through her wilderness wanderings that were of ill-mind, suffering and unbalanced to interact with, but Storm’s approach seemed to bend with the rolling waves of the situation- a mannerism which seemed to the perceptive dappled creature to be rather inconsistent.

She did not move forward with the same eager confidence as her distant kin; Africa was not so confident, not so bold as to penetrate the zone which bound both with security. Long weighted ears leaned forward with curious intent to soak the spill of words as they continued to stroke at Windwalker’s frail ego. Africa was not in competition with Storm; she sought not to win the heart of the male, to whisk him away under false pretences and promises of hope. What she had presented to him was a reality, an opportunity to rewrite the pages of his life upon; to mean something and become someone. A thoughtful sigh fluttered through her nostrils as she waited patiently for the exclusiveness of Storm’s presentation to end. When it did, the one-winged mare again spoke. “It matters only that you are safe with whom you choose to follow today. Far worse creatures lurk through this grave of the lost and wandering, and I will feel comfortable knowing that you will in the company of your kin.” She paused, thinking about the rootless mare who she could find no trace of the World’s Edge mist upon, nor the lush seeded grasses of the rebuilding Foothills- both were well thought of by the Throat, and if either clan should be where Windwalker retired to, all would be well.

If certainty and practicality were his priority- he would choose to follow Africa home in the end. For now though, she would wait to hear his thoughts on all that had been said so far.