For a long while she had lingered in the shadows of that enchanted chamber; shroud in the gentle roll of mist, lost through the passionate strike of many unfamiliar voices. That longing to speak; to interact and mix carelessly through dynamic hordes had for some time now, been just a flickering memory of a childhood long buried in the past. Africa had been slow to develop socially- her manner had always been so reckless, ignorant and scattered; it had been difficult for her to settle into conversation and simply absorb the thoughts of any other.

Even by the ripe age of three when most youth staggered into the confronting world of post-adolescence and adulthood, Africa remained awkwardly oblivious to the laws of maturity and played on, through imaginary worlds with fantasy friends- her innocence was bliss, yes, but it would quickly be her downfall too.

A lifetime away from that free-spirited happiness, the mare, now wrought by the painful memories still raw and corrosive in her mind, watched the commotion unfolding around her- before her (standing well clear by the furthest wall where a waterfall spilt playfully through a crack near the ceiling). Though understandably she pledged herself and her service to the resistance stirring at the hand of her bay, antlered Sultan, the Oracle remained pensively silent so as not to draw the many eyes upon her corner. She wanted neither the attention nor company; to her, the cave was the gift of secluding darkness like that she had spent much of the last spring hiding within. These days she held not the energy to brush with the ebb and flow of a cruel and confusing society.

Many she did not recognize spilt into the stew of sweat and emotion; it was intoxicating. There were some also who were more familiar- though not by name and certainly not through the network of family faces she had built. The two who caused her breath to choke were the featureless stallion (he who had been intoxicated; strange) and the arcing mare in the Threshold who had launch both an angry tirade and spiteful attack squarely at Africa.

The one-winged mare shrank further into the swallowing grip of shadows; the soft glow of those creatures around the walls unable to penetrate the thick mat of underground vegetation which shielded her. Unsurprisingly both personalities still seemed to her to be rather unhinged, dramatic and impulsive- no sooner had the blue mare arrived and spoken her flood of overbearing words, and she turned again and hurled abuse at the same stallion and flounced raucously up the passage.

Africa wanted nothing to do with that pair especially.

Others spoke in turn more or less, and to them she warmed marginally- the respect and courtesy portrayed, not for a second brewing discomfort through her already troubled mind. Though she wasn’t enticed from her place, curiosity did eventually begin to simmer behind her attentive pale gaze and so too, did the strange prickle of enthusiasm meet their spirited thoughts. When called for, the elusive Oracle would present wholeheartedly to help. But while these brave souls raised their opinions to the crowd, she felt no stir of confidence willing her voice to speak.

Africa