There was a raucous clattering ahead, like the thundering stride of an army fifty head strong. It forced Africa’s long lean forelegs to stiffen, to hold her there in place while whatever force descended upon the cave, driving headlong into the depths- perhaps they held a wraith in their midst; she held her breath, and waited. Pale creamy eyes were wide with expectation. Since the revelation of the God of the Earth’s cleansing, bubbling waters, many had been brought to task; forced to drink and even bathe until their illness waned. She had personally not witnessed such magic unfold- neither names, nor faces evolved through her mind when she thought about it; but it was hard not to swing with the hope boiling through the underground population nonetheless. With so many disharmonies flanking her life, she was drawn to cling to as many slivers of faith available.

The rigorous sound of rasping breathlessness soon slipped between the rumble of hooves; the travellers neared the room (the strike of fewer hoof beats than predicted became apparent), and Africa shuffled shrewdly from their path. Sound hooves slid noiselessly across the smooth, cold granite floor; the one wing draped across the pitch of her right hip lifted quickly as anticipation engulfed her. One horse fell through the mouth alone, and Africa’s breath choked in her throat; both surprise and sinking disappointment forcing wilted eyes towards the ground. Her heart fluttered wildly; a mass launch of fragile powdery butterfly wings right beneath her twitching breast, and her expression softened shyly.

He could do little to stop it seemed. The rock beneath his hooves and their sheer cloak of sleek raven feathering which descended down each strapping fetlock, was moist, and slick with moss despite the traipse of so many bodies along its surface. Even when the span of his stately stride had slowed by her front, he danced; perhaps still coursing with adrenaline, like those few times she had returned in the same resolute fashion. Africa could only see the switch of his shining, clean hooves with her eyes downcast; they betrayed the presence of fresh snow outside, as did the way the hair about each hoof flap heavily, all clumped together in a sodden mat. She dared not spare a glance towards his face- although she no longer ached so terribly for the hatred he had shown to her, the meek dappled mare wished not to reopen those wounds; fall prey once more to the sinister glare of wicked, ravenous eyes.

He spoke; barely seconds had passed, and she nodded demurely- nervously, one ear rising wilfully from the great web of her thick luscious, blazing mane. "Is it cold?" The question was barely a whisper; a courtesy, because she could not defy the return of modesty to her sensitive heart. The large grey wing rimmed with glossy black had been pulled snug against her quivering flank, and Africa withdrew timidly, submissively, should the stallion be considering again the rash flood of a tirade.