By the grace of the Sun God, naturally, and with the help of her avian counterpart, Africa slipped from the vastness of that exposed meadowland and into the concealment of the Threshold forest. The journey had not been without trepidation; always the thought of those insatiable wraiths licking at her wayward heels drove her harder and faster, covering the plagued landscape between The Sanctuary and the verge of Helovia at breakneck speed. As she fell into the ribbed tree line, thickest there by the southernmost perimeter, the mare’s heaving breath broke through the clench of her pearly teeth; spewing into the pungent, familiar hue of that region that welcomed her now into relative safety- those who had been scouting this far, proclaimed it to be untouched still by the wraiths spanning the country.

Theirs was a partnership built on the foundations of compromise and objectivity; both held conflicting aspirations- she was tender-hearted and he was militaristically-minded; each benefited from the stark contrasting motivation of the other. On this occasion, they had fled the subterranean refuge in favour of Silas’s quest for approval by the army; the resistance, and ventured north courageously despite the many perils lurking through the ever expanding shadow of Helovia’s Darkest hour. Naturally Africa might have preferred to hide away and let those overly ambitious, thrill seeking souls throw their own lives into jeopardy, but for the sake of her mate and the bond shared, they had left.

Feeding on the anticipation and wild danger surrounding, Silas guided them deeper into the Threshold- and there the pair began to hunt for the lost and wandering; the newcomers, and those searching for a fresh start in the old familiar land. Regardless, Africa and Silas were determined to bring those souls to safety; preferably into the warm bosom of their own stalwart herd. And soon enough their quest came upon another, a colt perhaps just above the brink of childhood; his brown coat tattered, mane and tail tangled and entwined with bramble and burr- evidence of a journey, no doubt.

Silas swept rapidly into the low bough of an oak near to the small horse, and summoned his beloved through the powerful bind of their hearts. The Oracle answered readily, her hurried stride without the natural care which so often governed her arrival- there was no time for elusiveness; for gracefulness and majesty. The mare found them quickly, pausing to note the colt’s lack of wings, the absence of a horn thoughtfully; and with her face lifted high to test the air which billowed constantly around them, Africa began. “Hello, I’m Africa, and the Zephyr is Silas.” Quickly and appropriately she gestured towards the avian whose shining dark gaze darted between the one-winged mare and her company. “We hail from the herd of Dragon’s Throat.” For a moment she paused- despite the waves of urgency dealt into her mind from the bird.

“What is your name?” The Oracle asked. ‘No time!’ Came the silent murmur, and she glanced apprehensively at Silas; her pale gaze softening when it returned to the colt. She waited only for his answer, and continued then with rather more haste- none should stay roaming when later the sun set, and neither Africa or the boy held capacity for flight and the security that proffered. “We must travel south quickly. A sickness haunts these lands, and to avoid it we must be fleet of foot. Can you gallop with me? As fast as you can?” It wasn’t a test nor challenge, but she needed the colt to understand that the insistence lacing her words was humourless; that grave danger would shadow their every move along the way.