As she stood by the grulla stallion, shafts of furious desert sunlight reaching through emerald canopy to caress sweaty hides, the flicker of a dark shadow passed across them and Africa’s mellow creamy eyes lifted towards the sky. It was not uncommon for predators of the heavens like ever circling Vultures and opportunistic hawks, to stalk the oasis silently from the above. Certainly they held the element of surprise there because not often were the natives of the leafy, lush paradise conscious of the great blue world beyond the shackles of their home. This shadow however, as fleeting as its presence was, seemed unlike those slower moving birds and their hovering cousins. It drew her interest immediately and she greeted him affectionately and privately through their tied mind. Though he posed no threat to the skinks basking by the way, there was a frenzy of movement across the scattered stones and sand, as they scrambled for shelter.

Returning her gaze to settle again upon Voodoo, she noticed his posture had stiffened ever so slightly and his breath had been held. One of her long charcoal tipped ears swooped backwards into the hedge of flames dancing smoothly across her poll, her crest, all throughout the thick oily tangles of her taupe-tipped, grey mane. She was unsure whether the subject of his son was a sensitive one; like perhaps her loathing for the one called Windwalker. Few had managed so successfully to slip beneath her skin and grate across her nerves, and she could not help but bristle defensively at the mention of his name. Patiently she watched, the end of her long burning black tail swishing casually through the dry sand by her back hooves.

Silas was making his descent by the way of vast circles above the oasis. Africa could feel his closeness through the sound throb of her heart. It was like a wave of cool spewing through her veins, calmness choking away the weight of constant worry; like the pure crystal waters of their home to quench the cruel ache of dehydration...

The stallion’s murky red eyes had lowered again to pour over the parched sand. The puddle left in the wake of his little companion had already evaporated (liquid unwanted, repelled by the desiccation of the desert), and all that remained was the small imprint of its load there, by Voodoo’s tatty, chipped hooves. The dappled mare pulled back her gaze quietly from the ground and smiled fruitlessly into the vacant space between them. It was easy to deflect the gravity borne by the utterance of that name- of that mare, and suppress her distaste because there was no great element of surprise. Although her aversion was aggravated a little by the revelation of their industrious rendezvous (she had fancied him for many seasons after all), Africa concealed it well. She nodded, understanding.

There was more to his tale though, and the Starry-Eyed watched with a mounting combination of curiosity and compassion when his ears seemed to fold back negatively after making reference to Aurelia.

"How unpleasant. Maybe we could arrange for him to visit you here? Somehow..." She genuinely sympathised with him. Africa was well aware of how self-centred and hurtful the gold-flaked Pegasus could be, but she knew also that the young mare could neither see, nor understand any other perspective other than her own. Time and time again that frustration had eroded the grey’s faith; her confidence in the estranged girl’s behaviour. Finally Voodoo’s eyes raised and Africa softened (still more) empathetically. The note guiding his words had been so strangely vulnerable. The one-winged stepped closer to her friend, not smiling in fear of appearing to deprecate his situation. She felt for him, even though she could no more understand paternal love, than the reason for which some wielded cruel death magic. Again her spongy snipped nose reached to reassure him. Not that the last of his story made any sense...