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His voice, though smooth and slow- a gentle purr caressing the eager anticipation of optimistic smoky-grey ears, birthed not the reasoning she had expected. There was disappointment pooling behind the quietly sombre transfer of her gaze as it sought comfort, understanding, beneath his own liquid brown irises. Is he turning me away? she wondered, confusion clouding the thought and the pale length of her complexion. …again?

She said nothing as he glanced unwaveringly upwards, and her soft, sensitive stare remained fixed upon him. So obscure had he become in recent times; so unpredictable and unfeeling she believed, that Africa felt still more a bitter wedge of detachment drive between them. The thick tendrils of sable and red to her rear licked restlessly across one lean pointed, charcoal hock, and then the other; the fire ablaze throughout, curled wickedly, hungrily, around each limb as though to singe and burn delicate skin away.

When his mahogany, gaze fell again, curtained by the sweeping mass of his ebony forelock she had stepped from him- for the sake of her snarled emotions, crushed hope and bruised faith.

Her own silken grey mane, tumbling forward between the still anticipative perk of her ears (she had misread, misunderstood- surely), shielded well the bemused furrow of her brow, though it was not quite long enough to conceal the transparency of her scrupulous gaze; not like his was able. Though hurt and lips turned down in reflection, her dimpled chin lifted with conviction- certain that this time, she had wronged him in no way. This time, he was acting quite without her influence, and Africa’s flaccid nostrils rattled loudly her incredulousness.

Before turning from her, the raven stallion told her to go; informed her with an eerie eloquence that she found unsettling, that soon he would seek her out again. Dark lashes narrowed carefully, unsure why the decision he now made, was not to accompany her; not to stroll through regions vast, like time and time again they had before. Certainly he seemed to be not one alone, but two personalities, at least; a concoction of reliability and friendship, arrogance and instability, brooding reclusiveness. It seemed his temperament could switch as quickly as Tallsun’s roiling cloud cover- something she found frighteningly beautiful, and was desperate to avoid for fear of drowning in deluge.

Windwalker left, even before scrutiny found purchase upon the slick slice of her tongue, and Africa watched him slip away into the wilderness, like a stranger; a wildfire through dried grass. She sighed jadedly and shrugged, moving away towards the south where she presumed the population of Helovia still cowered. Snow began to fall, whipped up by the biting wind- a white sheet across her way.