She crept like a cockroach through the dark corridor; lusting for solitude and darkness, a place to rest where no other would seek to find her out. The lands had long been lost to the Darkness. The desert, gleaming sun-scorched sand and the lush oasis which had harboured the herd so faithfully, just seemed like the flimsy truth of a dream. Africa had taken refuge in The Glowing Room (as it had come to be known by the hordes who relied upon its resources) for many weeks after the grim falling out with her closest friend- he had found her there though, as frail as wing-bones, cowering in the depths of the shadows given. It was decided after that moment, that she and Silas could not stay there; that Africa should seek still greater darkness, a place perhaps which struck fear into those sun-loving spirits who had crawled their entire lives across the earth’s lavish crust.

Hooves fell gently upon the smooth, moist surface of the stone passage. She had conveniently learned during the last Frostfall to slip between such stone walls with silent, graceful steps; and now having spent so many more months in this new underground wonderland, the art of stealth had become her proficiency. Occasionally her stride would slide along slick patches of unseen moss, mildew or wayward sand, but generally she was a sure-footed explorer. By the grace of Silas’ star-spangled feathers, some light granted her eyes mild ability, and their pale creamy stare peered through that gift helplessly.

The Roc could see well in such blackened environments; a creature of the night, he found more comfort basking in the cool, dank cave-system than burning beneath the shed of unforgiving sunlight. His brave violet gaze examined the room which soon opened before them, and a light rumble stirred in his chest. The floor was not rock like the many rooms one the way down (aside from the lovely forest which sustained them; bedded with moss and mushrooms, and light carpets of ethereal grass), it was dressed in sand- much like that of their former home. Clacking his beak gently, the young avian reassured his beloved that few had gathered so deep; perhaps only one or two shadows slouched about the vast chamber.

Africa moved forward unquestioningly, blind eyes finding naught but the delicate shimmer of the Zephyr as he lifted from her spine to circle the area for her. She watched silently, cautiously, before buckling knees could bear the weight of exhaustion no longer. He slim pallid face was gaunt; she’d not eaten well for maybe weeks, and it was etched with the unmistakable wrath of constant worry, melancholy and hopelessness. She knew and feared the nightmares which would rise now to suffocate her rest, but Africa could hold her lead-weight eyelids apart no longer- they closed eagerly.

Silas swooped quickly to rest upon the gentle rise and fall of his bonded mare’s silk clothed barrel. He would guard her while she rested; although he could not save her now from the torture of emotion destined to flare now and grapple at her vulnerability.

Africa