She could not tell the reason which compelled her; could not find the driving force behind this journey, possibly the most unusual and out of her way since coming to Helovia more than one year ago. Pale gold and glistening beneath the dappled streaks of seeping sun-rays, the mare’s eyes were cast towards the vast heavens although their longing was quashed by the thick mesh of mangrove canopy. She was unused to thickets, forests and dense, crowded scrubland- the Threshold was filled with sparsely scattered trees, fresh pine tinged winds and glorious sunshine; and her homeland was even less vegetated, a sandy, searing desert.

Unruly tangles of confused vines tousled across the narrow, crude goat-track which offered her tentative tread small guidance; snagging unsuspecting hooves as they struggled to navigate and shun the quicksand mud lurking hungrily to each side below. Already she had slipped three times, her breath choking in her lungs as she scrambled and scrabbled to the meagre elevation that the trail provided through the marsh. Lean forelegs which normally were dressed so smartly in white were caked in sludge; in the sort of pungent filth that caused her nostrils to pinch with distaste, and her ears to recline objectionably. So too were her hind legs sheathed in slurry, and the sprawling length of her crimson and black tail was snarled with bristly burs, spiked twigs and; damp and putrid.

The stale, foul air was unpleasant to taste and even Silas’s dry avian tongue with the few tastebuds held, curled with displeasure. He rode as sentry, rocking with the switch of his beloved’s hips; gripping tightly the silken drape which concealed the dappled flesh of her rump. Beady eyes, shining black and masked by subtle purple, scanned the strange new world as it wrapped so snuggly about them and his neck was stretched dutifully upwards; on high alert. It was murky and dull where the sun struggled helplessly to touch, and although he was a creature most comforted by the shadow of midnight, this realm of must and mystery was not quite the same. Star speckled feathers were dulled by the half-light, the purple sheen when he moved in place dismal without the sheer stroke of day.

Once they had come; a previous jaunt long, long ago. Africa could not recall easily the turn of events that gruesome day (her mind had been so fouled by bitter guilt; her heart shattered by cruelty before unknown), but the ravenous gaze of a predator seemed constantly to blitz before the blink of her nervous eyes. What she felt now, burning the pit of her gentle heart was ominous and terrible and should the path have been ever so slightly broader, more stable and honest, the vulnerable one-winged creature might have quickly about-faced and retreated in the direction she had come. It was not to be though, and she wondered if that was the trap which had ensnared her unwitting soul before. She listened carefully to the steady funnelling of air as it funnelled into her body; the weight of her throbbing pulse echoed through her sensitive ears, though she was glad for it today, unable to hear those blood curdling sounds which carried on the virulent winds breath.

It was eerie and cool, and her skin prickled wildly beneath the light cloak which slipped and slid around the sleek dry mass of her walking body. Warmth plumed beneath the heavy curtain of oily mane where it fell along the graceful line of her neck, and she focused on that feeling; the cosiness when the wily fingers of wind were not slipping beneath.
Suddenly, long heavy ears lifted to listen; a voice that she could not force out, that was real and so near. Trembling legs paused and a low rumble echoed through the split of the Zephyr’s clacking beak. There was someone ahead, though not dithering across the path like she. Africa drew a breath to hold in anticipation, her heart pumping faster as her eyes sought the unfamiliar shadow of a horse through the gnarled swamp trees. The Oracle stood motionless, struck by the horror of the words just spoken; paralysed by that which her tender mind could hardly stand to fathom- and she just watched the figure milling through the cesspool with wide, uncertain eyes.