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It had been two nights already, and as the first sliver of dawn light began to creep across the far eastern horizon on the third day, Africa turned her weary eyes to the north; to the bridge into the desert where she wholeheartedly expected the raven stallion aboard leathery wings to descend. She’d not slept a wink, still scatterbrained, intoxicated, and prominent pink veins had risen to tarnish her light-golden gaze, a glaze to gloss their crystal clear quality. The soft hues of the breaking morning hinted at yet another scorching Tallsun day (naturally). Fading stars winked playfully a final good bye, before they fell into the expanding abyss of vast blue, and the milky face of night’s moon had already sunk heavily into the cliffs to the west. No shadow loomed by the border yet however, and the eager mare sighed misty disappointment into the still, cold air.

There was a fair furrow in the gravelly sand where she’d been waiting, standing vigil, swaying with restless anticipation; wondering, hoping. Her empty stomach groaned a vigorous objection to her fasting (though Silas had brought for her petty samples of overripe fruit and more carefully, Aquis Pipe flowers), but the aggressively nervous throb of her pulse numbed her pricked, focused ears. She could hear nothing but the longing of her fluttering heart; feel naught but the twist of expectation through her core. Powerful, sloping shoulders rolled beneath the loose shroud of cloak (moss green and covering all of her body; velveteen edge draped down about her clicking knees) and fire curled and whirled as she shook the long thick curtain of fading grey mane which sprawled down across the delicate arch of her neck. The golden dragons dancing together upon her brow glistened as the sunlight grew stronger, but alas the stallion never came.

By midday, sweat again stained her mottled hide, though the sheet of light fabric masked all but sodden legs and dampened neck. It offered light shade and rippled gently whenever a rare zephyr of wind burst in from the coast. Still she lingered, bothered by plaguing flies keen and opportunistic, and as parched inside as the arid land beneath; that which she loved so much. Africa yawned deeply, her jaws prying apart to receive the hot thankless air, and briefly her lonely eyes were hidden beneath the fall of thick lashes. As they opened once more, a slow moving shadow appeared some way off and lids flung further apart with surprise, desperately optimistic. She took a tentative step towards it, long charcoal ears straining forward, neck lifting her well-chiselled skull high into the air; nostrils fluttering, pumping the air should any scent betray this visitor’s identity.

He called suddenly, a shrill confident sound to mark his arrival home at last and the Starry-Eyed returned a song still louder, overjoyed. Long white stockinged forelegs stumbled forward into a canter and she covered the space between them quickly, bucking and cavorting like a young filly in a meadow of spring’s first flowers. She was far too excited to notice he’d not flown down to meet her, and likewise failed at first to notice the mare trailing the dust stirred up by his sturdy grey hooves. "Silk! Silk!" she called him, falling headlong into him, burying kind features against the steaming breadth of his body. The scent upon him was alien and strange, but she figured soon enough he would be laced by the dusty hue of their Throat suitably.

When she peeled herself away from him after a lavish embrace, yellow eyes fell upon the one nearby; antlered, strangely marked and tinged beneath bright stripes similarly to the sleek blanket feathers beneath the starry-spangle dressing her companion. "Hello there," she breathed blissfully, grinning, admiring the curious jewel draped between the prongs over her face. "...I’m Africa, Sultana of Dragon’s Throat." Fiery tail flicked sharply through the plume of buzzing flies pursuing, long black and red tendrils beneath sliding off the narrow points of her hocks. "Come to the shade, we will talk there in comfort." She had no reason to think Silk might bring harm to her and their family, and after a brief, thoughtful assessment of the unfamiliar mare in his company, the Starry-Eyed imagined her mild appearance to be no threat.