For a week or more, the dappled figure of the Oracle had lingered in the depths of subterranean shadows, unwilling to delve into the social responsibilities which snapped so insatiably at her heals. It seemed that the darkness had not only the ability to spread physical sickness throughout the mortal beings of this realm; the wraiths hunting incessantly across the crust above, pulled from life by the noxious cloud. Minds were souring beneath it, untouched apparently to the naked eye; but tension and discontent among the cave-dwelling population was ripe and insatiable. Africa had not been spared the wrath; claustrophobia had never been a prevalent feature in her character, but here where dark stone corridors wound only deeper into the pits of despair, she was crumbling beneath the weight of introspection.

She had abandoned the mysticism of the wall above; the wonderful depictions of this world’s creation, and the closeness she felt to her Lord there, for seclusion and solitude. Windwalker had tarnished the respite they offered. She had left for the stark quiet that seemed always suspended through the vast underground jungle’s eerie midst, and the heavy shadows cast there where the delicate mushroom-lamps and shimmery canopy could not always light. No other place in the cave network could offer her the same opportunity to hide from society- and there she had lingered alone, for a long time, in sullen silence.

Other’s came by frequently- The Glowing Room harboured their only food source, but Africa shied from the prospect of company; friendly smiles, whenever sharp eyes cornered her, were met with retreat as she turned and withdrew still further from their reach. Likewise, a mare she had met only once neared the waterfall, uncomfortably close to the smooth moist wall which usually sheltered her. Long lean ears responded immediately, burying backwards beneath the quite unkempt shreds of her dull, oily mane; the crimson square feather tethered tightly behind the left, and its black star-spangled neighbour, quivered beneath the pressure of her unhappiness. Though the strange mare (Africa could not remember her name, if it had been shared at all previously) held probably the purest of intentions, the one-winged creature favoured not the thought of her intrusion and slid her wingless side along the cold surface of rock, out of proximity.

A stallion that she had seen often moved forward as she slipped away, and Africa paused, one ear swivelling with sudden intrigue.

She knew not that their paths had crossed already; amnesia had nulled that terror from her memory. He was quiet (menacing), she had determined over the course of whatever time had been spent in the same room; preferring the company of himself, like her, and never had they sought to cross the invisible boundaries securing each other’s privacy. Africa was curious now only because he had chosen to approach the two-toned mare- one visitor, among many who had come to sip from the waterfall before her. She watched with narrow eyes as the Unicorn hesitated; continued, and the sound of his guttural voice expelled the reason.

Africa