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The ranks were filling, slowly; though it seemed the faster she appointed such responsibility to those who had requested it, the faster the herd seemed to vanish. Africa was bemused to say the least, frustrated and tired, but she drew strength from those loyal few who remained and worked despite her flailing efforts to form any sort of foundation. It was for them she continued, for the life of the desert and the God of the Sun who had entrusted her with his followers.

Clouds amassed overhead, low and heavy; pregnant with maybe the last storm of the season, and the air all around seemed overwhelmingly thick with humidity. She stood idly beneath the weathered skeleton of Dragon’s Blood, its gnarled shadow across her dappled frame dulled as the region fell into grim darkness. Only the bellowing grumble of the heavens gave warning for the wrath about to descend on the arid landscape, though the air seemed alive with anticipation; electricity, exciting the fine hairs of her coat to lift. Africa had not seen weather so ominous in these parts for many moons and a tickle crawled along the length of her sensitive spine.

"Silas?" She probed his mind tenderly, calling for him to return. The zephyr had left early in the afternoon to forage for late Birdsong fruits among the tallest of the oasis palms. Another roar through the blanket of dismal grey above and the clammy air seemed to vibrate around her. For a moment her eyes closed and she held her breath. The flutter of wings, cool wind against the soaking sweat cloaking her caused her thoughts again to focus, and Africa smiled affectionately as her bonded settled his small weight upon her rump. His sharp lilac eyes peered at her curiously; small face tilted with interest after the last of his meal was promptly swallowed. “Would you find Sikeax for me?” The young girl had intrigued Africa from the start with a bright attitude and motivation that reminded her immediately of her own youthful vigour. More recently though, she had returned home with a rather confronting weight baring down her shoulders and it troubled the dappled mare deeply.

The zephyr nodded once, a brisk gesture that was swiftly followed by the spread of his glossy black wings. With no effort on his part at all, the growing breeze gathered beneath and lifted him into the air. Away he flew to find the honey-tinged creature whose horn glowed in unison with her eyes. He remembered her well; Africa was fond of her, and so a point had been made to store her memory in his clever mind. He flew quickly beneath the storm cell, searching with hawk-like skill until he found her, calling his eerie song above her so that she might heed his intent and follow.

Africa