Tallsun had not fallen upon Helovia nearly as heavily as Africa had imagined it might. When the darkness had been choked by the returning sun after the Endless Night, the summer to follow had been frightfully harsh. She remembered it well after stepping from the cave that she’d found years before with Voodoo; it had been quite like the bath she had so innocently thought to take in the Basin- horrific. Naturally she had presumed that the return to light on the last occasion (after Helovia’s Darkness), would be a similar affair; Birdsong had been mild enough though and the first sting of summer much the same.

After parting from the blistering sands of her desert home, the Starry-Eyed made haste on foot in a north-easterly direction. Patrol’s had been set for the season and Silas had found no trace of the rising colt, Sacre, who would be her partner for the occasion. Their coupling was well, because she still needed to speak with him about many things- his roots, his aspirations... She sighed and smiled meditatively. She knew of two occasions already that he had helped his brothers and sisters of the sand; both recounts had been offered to her personally and a great warmth and pride filled her heart as she pondered the possibilities in his future.

Silas slipped ahead of her, riding the heavenly highway while she could not, to scout the path for any sign of the boy. Sharp eyes found no trace along the way and so he flew on and on until near midday, when the murky shadow of shifting green hues- the Forest, loomed just below. There could be no way of finding his beloved’s partner from above the thick canopy, and so the zephyr sank in vast circles, towards the first scattering of shabby, twisted pines by the southern perimeter. There he waited patiently, finding to eat the fruit of a vine crawling up one quite dead tree.

Africa arrived later at a brisk trot, sweat leaking to form small streams across her bleak-puddly coat. Above her, the sun beat down relentlessly, and as she passed into the thickening tree line she was quite glad for the relief the dense shade offered. She was not unfamiliar with the vastly wooded region, though since the last time she had passed through to gather delicious ‘shrooms and moss, the old place seemed very much darker; overbearingly unsettling (she knew a Basilisk lived in these parts, she had been given its egg a long time ago). A shiver inched up her spine and she paused, calling for her companion through their bond. The one-winged was vulnerable here, though perhaps no more than any other shackled down by the curse of gravity. Silas fluttered down from the spiked branch he was roosting upon, finding her quickly enough.

Affectionately she watched him, waiting thoughtfully for him to find his grip upon the generous, fleshy curve of her rump. His mount was too unbalanced though it seemed, and as she began again forward, he skipped between spread-apart wings to ride instead upon the more constant dip of her back. Every so often Africa paused to lower fluttering nostrils and scent the rabbit-trail she followed, but only after about an hour or so wandering did she happen, at last, upon his well dusted smell. Pleased by his apparent initiative, the young mare began to search for him a little more carefully, peering between the tight-knit maze of pines around her and listening still more intently for any sound to betray his whereabouts. Silas again took to the canopy, darting and fluttering quietly among bough and branch to track him down.

Soon after, the muffled murmur of another’s voice greets her from just beyond a sunlit rise. It was not that of Sacre’s (it seemed familiar, though she could not place its origin; it was like that of a dream), and against her better judgement she stepped quietly towards it.

There was the image of a red-brushed coat of the colt, broken by a twin sappling’s leaves; and another, a mare she had once thought to be an illusion, a Goddess. With a rattling sigh she broke her cover and slid towards them, smiling warmly, for her memory of the bone-cloaked female was not marred with mistrust and hate. The Starry-Eyed remembered well the strange reaction of the stallion in the cave, Ciceron- and the mare he was with, Parelia (who was now a close friend). Without prejudice her eyes swept across the grotesque face of the other, her stomach lurching a little within, passing the creature on the ground near to her, and then on to Sacre and the fox upon him, to whom a thoughtful nod was offered.