The water was nothing but warm and inviting, holding arms wide and tempting her into enter it's body and to relax and soothe herself. Africa had given her to the permission to wade within, but there was something that followed after the single winged mare's permission. She had been asked if she was there to stay, to hold loyalty that was no longer vague as it was when she was still a young one with her father. Whenever the stallion's actions had taken him, they lacked the ability to be her problem now. Sikeax was reaching adulthood faster than she thought she would, and it was time to leave those sort of things in the past.
"This place has become more of my home than the Frozen Arch where I was raised at. I may of come in search of knowledge, but now, I don't see that need anymore. This is my home, you are my sister, the others are my family. I won't leave, and would once more like to offer healing services to the Dragon's Throat once again."
The sounds that fall out of her lips and fade backwards into her ears strengthen the headache's power. Her eyes press shut, lids squeezed down hard enough that she is creating thin wrinkles. Moments pass before the intensity of the pain passes down to a lower level of power, allowing her to slowly crack her eyes with pale lashes fluttering. The oasis seems to question her for a moment, only in her head does she think the water is actually speaking to her, but it holds a face to her eyes that shows one of worry as of her current state.
Her knees unbuckle with an easy step, the clouds rolling in with a heavy gust of wind that tosses her locks and sends her feathers flying into her left eye. She is slow in the process of entering the pool, letting the feeling of sin sweep off of her in waves. She goes in far enough that the water rises up to her chest, the honey shade of her coat darkening with the weight of water.
"How have things been here been? What caused the ocean to close in on us more?" She is no longer ready to get the idea of what happened to her memories now, more interested in escaping the talk that she had once been so ready to speak of. Patient as she could be, hanging her head low enough that the locks of her mane float across the top of the water and shift the surface to ripples, she waits for the feeling of Africa entering the water, to feel the ripples created by another against her skin.
If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?