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…reforge this land…

Wide eyes surveyed the area; sparkling with curiosity, stunned by the immensity of the task at hand. They had not yet reached the oasis, though its lush emerald figure shimmered through a weak haze of heat not too far away. Africa’s tongue was as parched as the sands they had covered already, and she yearned to taste again the sweet, cool waters of the Throat. Many things had been changed here; twisted and tormented through the length of their unexpected absence, and she wondered innocently, silently, about the shrine she had tended night and day for many months and those cackling flames that had warmed her conflicted soul. So too did she think of the sacred Dragon’s Blood tree- which had stood in place through wars and floods, and events still worse than anything she had witnessed, herself. Surely both had been saved.

…choose your followers…

The smooth, resonating tone of his voice rolled through her mind again; reinforcing her resolution and driving her forward.

Soft sandy gaze shifted to find Ampere; a nervous enthusiasm lurking behind the long veil of fluttery black lashes, but they lingered not as Africa bristled against the bitter chill, and drew a deep breath. Her voice was not as strident as the black-blue, feathery mare who led at her side, but by the grace of the wind, it was born high and far enough through the south, that any loitering ears should hear.

“Followers of fire and light!

Return to us… please.” Africa’s voice held not the confidence that perhaps might have been expected; her tongue not the eloquence of one born into the palm of royalty. She was perched atop a rocky outcrop of limestone tumbled together into a crude mound; a meagre platform that suited completely her humble figure, hooves resting carefully against the gravelly, weathered grooves which had been etched into the surface over time.

She had draped around her the cool-green cloak which concealed well-enough her debility, and the light silken material it had been woven with slithered restlessly about long lean legs, as the brackish wintry wind swirled through the vast, flat desert region. Upon her brow was resting a symbol of light and fire, the crown fashioned with dancing, fire-breathing dragons to mark the clemency of the God of the Sun, and though lacking in self-belief; cast into a position which had been held by only the finest of warriors through her time present, Africa wore it in good-faith, her chiselled skull uplifted.

Silas circled high above, his shadow as small as a young hare’s body as it passed across the figure of his beloved so far below. Sharp lilac eyes watched with interest as others; some new, some old, began to wander their way back into the territory of Dragon’s Throat, crossing for the first time the narrow length of bridge which would undoubtedly aid them defensively through battles to come. Snippets of their coming were offered to the dappled mare below- but they were broken often, and blurred while the connection between them continued to grow.

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Ampere first- then everyone else.
Please keep the posting order until the official business has been covered.