The voice which sailed through the twisting, woody forest was refreshingly civil; a little bland and quite devoid of the emotion which ordinarily filled Africa’s own sweet, mellow tone, but without that hostility that so often accompanied travellers to this Threshold. A long heavy breath expelled from the dapple grey mare’s lungs, mild relief bursting through flaccid, velvet nostrils which rattled against the rush of old air. The stranger materialised through the shaggy, sparse undergrowth which barely clung to life, nestled awkwardly amongst the twisted roots of enormous, thirsty redwoods. She did not quite match the image which Africa’s playful mind had initially envisaged.

The mare was similar in height; although the rim of interlocking feathers which budded along the ridge of the dapple grey’s shoulders all the way upwards to dress her withers as though in delicate frills, gave her a slightly larger profile. Shrewd amber eyes danced forward to meet luminous yellowy-green pools. Her colouring was dark bay brown; tinged red mane (aglow as it bounced beneath the sun’s vibrancy) and a tail which matched; and interestingly, it appeared as though the tips of her pricked ears had been dipped in snow stain- unusual but quite attractive. From the angle which the other horse had come, any further markings were not quite so noticeable.

The seal bay Equine introduced herself quickly, which Africa appreciated immensely. There had been so many occasions lately where pulling names and intensions was as complicated as finding teeth in a Zephyr’s mouth; patient as she was, pandering to the weak, distrustful and frail minded did grow incredibly tiresome.
Africa could not help the attraction of her eyes, to the silvery blade which dangled (she thought precariously), across Adira’s shoulder. It seemed to her, to be a flattened horn- perhaps torn from the forehead of those who had robbed her of flight. Without being a racist individual, she still held a small amount of contempt for those monsters of the north- they were a race of their own in her sensitive, gentle mind; blood thirsty creatures with no moral code or integrity to cloak their macabre world.

“I am Africa, and this is Silas.” The humble mare offered cheerfully in return, absorbing and reflecting easily the shift of friendliness, as it swept through Adira’s expression. “It is nice to meet you.” Africa added quickly, through an expanding smile, and she meant it sincerely. The little Zephyr, still perched above them, watched in silence; beady black eyes narrow as they roved between the meeting mares. “I have come from Dragon’s Throat in the south, searching for any travellers looking for a home and a family.”

Tagged: @[Adira]