They tell me I'm too young to understand
They say I'm caught up in a dream
The collector of stories and the forger of legends; Africa’s long, pale grey face tilted when the other mentioned that she was in fact the sole survivor of an empire lost. Intrigue flooded the soft lines of her expressive face.
Many had brought to Helovia tales of ancestry and rulership, more still burdened with impenetrable heartache and despair, but Africa was swift to recognize the regal stiffening of one whose crown had been of great significance in a lifetime past. The sudden flare of elegance in the other; of pride and majesty, stirred the grey mare’s imagination into life and her nostrils ratted attentively. There was really no reason that this broken Pegasus could rise again to power in one form or another.

Still she wore that refreshingly tender smile; the air of grace and humility which throbbed equally through the steady drum of Africa’s young heart. She felt warmth towards Nevaeh which did not often bless the meetings held between travellers and herself, here in the Threshold. Ordinarily those she met were aloof, deranged or pretentious- none of which the one-winged Oracle found she could relate easily to. The heartbroken soul who lingered by her now however was different. Africa felt as though she were not so much a lost cause like the rest, unable or unwilling to heal; she thought as her shining creamy eyes danced between the deep auburn gaze of Nevaeh’s that maturity and dependability lurked beneath the terrible frills of grief.

Time was the heart’s greatest ally.

Thick coal tresses licked across the hocks of the other dappled mare in a sudden show of contentedness, and likewise, Africa’s crimson and grey tail began to wave smoothly backwards and forwards. "Perhaps one day you could share your story with me." Sympathetic tones laced the curiosity driven request; she did not want to push (possibly) the newest of her friends to the brink of despair. Africa knew the sadness of loss, and the bitterness therein which corroded even the loveliest of natures. She cared for Nevaeh, as would their family; their home.

The air was warm around them and the first hint of dawn’s first light, by then, was quickly seeping through the forest all around them. Not far from their position, the shrill ‘tweedledee of a newly woken blue-jay shattered the eerily dull silence of night. Behind it raised the chorus of countless other birds- forest wrens, rambunctious parrots and even the morbid, throaty caw of a black raven. The Threshold was waking; and so too another day cursed by the unescapable heat of Tallsun.

"Nevaeh?" Africa began the question delicate, ruffling the lonely wing across the right side of her barrel and lifting it to rest easily across the curve of her short back where normally her Bonded was perched. "When the sun rises, travel will be harder. My hooves are bound by gravity and my pace is primitive and slow- worse for the heat of summer’s months. Would you come with me into the south?" The words were fluid and calm despite the reason they were spoken and the hint of apology. Nevaeh needed no more stress- Africa wanted her tension to begin to ease away from this point forward.