Look down, the ground below is crumbling
Look up, the stars are all exploding
Flies, apparently thriving on the pitiful suffering of their heat-stressed host, buzzed incessantly about Africa, bothering in a drunken haze about her face despite the veil of crimped grey forelock shielding her large watching eyes. Every now and then they would slip between those luscious locks and crawl in triumph about the wrinkled corners of her unnaturally clean, amber eyes. The young mare blinked compulsively when they did so, jerking her face to unbalance them in violent ambush with sweeping hair. Silas, even while he was positioned and guarded, assisted his beloved whenever the creatures strayed far from their target, plucking them with lightning precision from the air with his sharp, clacking beak.

The stallion recoiled a little- a respectful gesture perhaps, and it was regarded gratefully with a more peaceful series of gentle beak clicks. He could see from his posture; his rather subdued and contrasting mannerisms on that day that aggression was far from his agenda and appropriately the young brave Zephyr began to settle. Still the glowing green of the dark dapple grey's gaping stare was unsettling, and not for one second did Silas' focus sway.

Shajake began to speak then, his gruff, baritone voice severing each word as they spilt across his hardened-looking lips. Africa listened with polite intent, completely engrossed in the strange stallion's company. Her fine skull dipped a little as she considered his question, wracking through the deepest set memories in her cleansed mind. Curiously, her heart began to drum a little faster; a little louder. Her patient eyes followed his as they swept downwards to scatter across the ground- searching, searching. His lips lowered at last, and to Africa's surprise the weathered stallion tugged so delicately at the slim, long stem which bound a lone daisy to its bed. "Oh…" She couldn't help but utter and he lifted it towards her into a sudden breath of soft wind; offering the lovely gift to her perhaps, just as one would to a friend.

Then she blinked unexpectedly- a scene filling the void of darkness behind her shut eyelids. She was younger then it seemed, her body-language ripe with enthusiasm; her bliss, potent in a way she could not believe now. The girl was dancing before a stallion, grey like Shajake, but is body was far fuller and hopelessness did not haunt his wicked green eyes. Africa took a breath and held it. Silas spontaneously did the same, but his sparkling night-hued eyes did not fold. The girl was chattering, obnoxiously coaxing her company to play some game though Africa could not tell what- her imagination was not the same now. There seemed to be an item of sorts on the ground by their feet, and that was apparently the real focus of the mare's attention, the pinnacle even, of her exceptionally obvious delight. It was a flower, and it was pinned beneath a rock.

All at once Africa's lungs burst and through the rush of exhaled air, she cried "The spy… my prisoner…" Ever so gently, she accepted Shajake's flower with reaching lips and blushed then too, both because she felt embarrassed for not recognising a friend- she did not recall their cliff meeting as Silas had; and because her blood began to simmer with emotional charge. Somewhere between them, there had been, and still was a connection. Even if Africa could not remember the most intricate details of their history, the grim looking stallion's provocative motion was enough to stir warmer feelings through her heart. Silas felt the shifting sentiment of his partner and rocked with careful restrain in place. Still he could not wash the vision of this aggressive creature launching in a foul antagonistic rage at the weak, vulnerable mare.

"I remember that day…" She revealed at last through a slow, reflective sigh. Narrowed inquisitively, her tender, intelligent gaze roved the expanse of his unkempt form as he lurched forward, leading her to where the water still flowed. Africa could not remember the direction and slipped forward behind him, perhaps half a metre from his jutting, swinging hip.

"How have you been?" He asked as though filling the building silence between them. And quickly her ears strained forward as they received the last mention in his rather unorthodox conversation starter. "Err…" She hesitated, pausing the casual undulation of her long legs for a moment, and watched as he continued obliviously. He continued, and as she cleared her throat aloud, discomfort quite apparent as she did, Silas warned Shajake with a more civil squawk from her withers. Africa allowed a small distance to grow between them then before she stepped off once more to follow. She did not answer his question.