The darkness outside the gaping mouth of their sanctuary was diluted with no pale milky moonlight, and the shimmer of starlight far beyond the earth’s pull had been dulled grimly by the obscuring haze of Helovia’s plague. As she stood their motionless, gazing out, Africa felt a wave of sadness for the sake of those hankering beside her, beneath the earth. Though beautiful and mysterious, their refuge was an unnatural dwelling, and many longed desperately for even the glare of sun-drenched clouds on an overcast day. She had travelled a half a dozen times beyond the cave’s security, questing to return with those lost and wandering, and never had the warmth of daylight; the sun’s recuperating stroke graced her thinned, puddly-grey coat. It seemed that a pestilence cloud had well and truly encompassed all that had been; the world and everything familiar within it.

A bitter wind blasted down into the entrance of The Sanctuary; a chilly reminder that Frostfall’s wrath had joined the darkness, descending to smother all that remained of the once thriving landscape above. Soft creamy eyes watched longingly for the familiar glitter of star-speckled feathers, for the flash of raven wings, or any sign that her friend had returned. So selflessly Silas had volunteered himself to retrieve those treasures and trinkets that had been left when the herd fled en masse north. There had been no time to collect valuables, to consider the future, or even glance back to view the luxury of their home- the warning had been ominous, and with haste each had swept from the crumbling security of the desert.

Finally, amidst a flurry of snowflakes and blinding wind, the Roc plunged down from the grim skies and into the shelter of their makeshift home. He had been gone nearly an hour this time, and Africa could not deny the surging fear which had overwhelmed her thoughts. "I was so worried..." she told him through the bind of their minds, reaching at the same time to grasp with blunted teeth the strange sullied pouch gripped between sharp talons. "What have you brought, Silas? Where are the shells?" Inquisitively she glanced by his beak, though it was empty. Had they been blown from the sandy nest, the small covering of dried grass, palm fronds and all, by the weather howling out there? Her nose crinkled a little with disappointment, and her bonded fluttered to rest upon the dip of her naked back.

‘They were too small. Shattered...’ The little avian tried in earnest to explain, and though she nodded; her long, slim face turned back towards him, Silas could see that she was saddened. ‘Covered them in litter... then sand.’ He added gently, reassuring her that they had not been abandoned. Though the young mythical bird could not understand the hoarding nature of his beloved- those items she prized so were junk by the view of his naturally nomadic nature, he respected them for her sake; like they were his own. "Thank you." Came the reply, and each mind was clear and pleased enough.

Africa placed the strange pouch carefully by her lightly-hued forefeet and peered down upon it with a rather puzzled expression. She had seen the likes of bags and pouches before- secured to her forearm in fact was a small leather satchel with varies feathers, a star fish and other pieces retrieved by Silas over the course of the week (if it had been so long). But this article was unusually supple, cushy; as though filled with some kind of liquid. Certainly she had little use for it, her own container suited her needs quite amply; and the oasis was never short of water. ‘It was by the wall...’ The Zephyr told her at last, rolling the feather he had removed from his lush plumage in his beak before letting it fall to the mare’s side. He eyes lifted at last to scout through the thin crowd gathered by the doorstep lost in thoughts of their own. "I’m not sure what to do with it. It’s too large for my satchel, and with so many living here beside us, I couldn’t begin a store like back home... Surely there are thieves around."

Her companion shrugged casually, thrusting his beak with a click into feathers fluffed about his throat; he cared little for her kind's excessiveness.