Not even in the deepest furrows of sleep these days was the gift restored to the puddly-grey mare; rare were the instances when she was able to descend enough to restore strength to begin with, now that insomnia and reoccurring illusions of sorrow and trauma, had risen to haunt a desperately tired mind whenever it sought to rest. She seldom pined over her loss, the gravity which cursed her forlorn existence- though never could she forget what was robbed, the reason and the consequence. Realistically, she had all but given up the hope of ever lifting with the winds again and had settled herself into the life of primitive transport and hardship and gave it little thought. Life was not so bad, and she had come to realise that there were worst fates to suffer.

His answer both stunned and warmed the Oracle as her mellow eyes drifted pensively beyond the glaze of his brave eyes and beyond, to find the hurt lurking just below the surface. Of course she realised that words had been withheld- she was cunningly perceptive, and one so sensitive as Windwalker presented could not easily hide the true face of their soul. Likewise, her own expression bathed in the softest white-grey, was equally transparent, and she could no more hide from him the pent up emotion in her core, than ascend right then into the shade of the oncoming night.

Africa knew readily what the feeling of shattering bones felt like; she knew the frailty of those lining the avian-style appendages, and the bitter irony which often brought upon the wearer immense vulnerability- they were both a means of escape, and a target for the heartless. Both of her wings had been broken during the first frost of last winter; even before the cruel twist of fate which saw the left torn away altogether. Alan had found the dappled mare’s greatest weakness and trapped her so cunningly with it. Perhaps the Gods had pitied Africa, as she’d descended into the pit of despair and hopelessness, because she was rescued and those fractures fused together once again by the will of powerful magic; the World Edge’s Moon Doctor, Smoke.

Apparently Wind had been less fortunate, and with tender care the Oracle comforted his loss without word of her own affliction.

"I suppose so!” She shrugged with a loose grin, not nearly as weighed down by the concept as perhaps the stallion still was. No one could change the hand dealt to them...

Or could they?

She might have mentioned at that point that magic could restore to them flight in one form or another, but as Windwalker spoke on about the exclusivity of their shackled club; just the two of them, she found her tongue limp and without the desire to ruin his resolve- after all, the only way forward was to accept, like he had said before. A deep sigh erupted from her chest, pushing apart the lips which had been so diligently sealed and she said finally, "Our lives can only improve from here on in- strength in numbers; like a race of our own.”

Africa dropped her face in that moment towards the still darkening plate of water, though this time she did not hesitate, and drew long gulps of the cold, sweet water. A thought swept through her mind too as the rush of liquid seeped into the empty tremble of her stomach- perhaps she could give to him her last wing, as a gesture of hope, and faith that one day his dream might genuinely come true. It would after all bring him that one step closer.

Africa