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It was not often these days that she spoke without reason; for the simple joy of life- because the sound of her own voice was sweet and soft upon even her own ears. All through her youth, the dapple grey had been a forthcoming creature with an overly swift tongue that often flapped at speeds beyond the much slower process of her thoughts. She had been of a foolish, childish nature, and such had won her few victories through the little years of her life. Only recently had it dawned on Africa, that not every situation required her contribution and for the most part, things had flowed much more smoothly than ever it had before. Supposedly the revelations which had unfolded into a whole new character were the doing of maturity; the inescapable step from the ignorance of youth, into something far more demure and thoughtful. But other aspects and recent events had contributed to the unexpected and rather brutal transformation as a whole.
She stood wedged, in a sense, between the windswept bodies of the Throat’s two Sultans. Gaucho had swept down from the currents of the sky perhaps the second he noticed the small gathering by the borderline, and quietly the young Oracle had greeted him with her trademark cheery smile- an expression which seemed to follow her into even the wildest of circumstances. Idly her long tail licked the coaly black points of her stationary hocks, crimson peeking eagerly through the curtain of dirty black, as the mass of tangled, oily hair swept from one side of her body to the other.
The paint mare- blotched with similar black and white to Midas spoke soon enough and Africa’s ears stiffened with curious intent, straightening their heavy dark length into the hot air surrounding. Even in her appointed role, the grey was constantly learning, and when the other mare mentioned that the revealed statue was a gift, a thoughtfully intrigued snort fluttered through her expanding nostrils. Vigilant eyes scurried over the glass piece with meticulous care before shifting back to note the expressions gathered across both Midas and Gaucho’s faces. The concept was rather marvellous- the eagle, quite beautiful, and Africa didn’t conceal her gracious fascination for a moment.
The other mare who had accompanied the paint remained quiet and Africa felt less aware of her own humble silence as a result. It seemed more appropriate for her superiors to represent the Throat. Midas spoke then on cue, and at the sound of his voice Africa noticed (with less surprise than the first times she had encountered his magic), that sand began to swarm beneath the gift and turn it around and around, giving the young mare a better chance to view the amazing craftsmanship as a whole. “It’s beautiful. “ She said at last and smiled earnestly to both guests as the sun glinted through its midst.
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