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She felt the elation and presumed quickly, gullibly that it was love; longing, lust, hope and happiness. She was caught and lifted by the whirlwind of emotion, his embrace- his exclusive affection. She was his and easily, readily she absorbed his warmth, his care and his delight. Strange, hooked wings gathered around her, sliding the loose silk along her body, trying in vain to find the sleek, moist coat canvassing her lovely curves. The blistering bite of the sun was replaced quickly by the sultry warmth of his body as it pressed intimately against her, sweat slick across it. He whispered to her alone, a declaration, a promise and instantly Africa’s lips peeled apart to answer... No.

No? She questioned, wondering what her companion meant- again. Lately he’d been acting out, plunging still deeper than the simplicity of her blissfully happy mind and injecting vast enigmatic statements there, that she neither understood, nor particularly wanted. She remembered recently how they had spoken of all the things she’d once longed for; they'd deliberated over her feelings for Silk until her naivety could bear no more. Now, thoughtfully curious eyes roved along the sleek, dampened black of his coat, the line of his crest, his nape; searching him in silence like perhaps the answers to everything might suddenly come to light. I’m sure its love... she assured, but there was a tickle of doubt; maybe there would always be. Had she not told Windwalker that love cannot be instant? You did, Silas answered the thought suddenly, and swooped down from the heavens to set upon her rump.

There was no doubting how he felt though, the affectionate stallion made absolutely no secret of it and Africa grinned stupidly across at him, not for one second betraying the bird’s reservations outwardly; their impact, the dilemma.

Before they left for the shade, the eccentrically coloured mare introduced herself, drawing light-gold eyes from their interest. They blinked curiously at the title set beside her name and the one-winged chuckled chivalrously, "I’m nothing so fancy. Africa is fine." Tenderly she offered her velvety nose, a friendly gesture from a demure creature, after which she turned and started inland towards a rogue tree whose feeble canopy would suffice for a little while longer.

Africa slipped to the edge of the shade, offering naturally more of the gift to the black coated stallion and the newest to the Throat- she thought nothing of it, and turned forward her long ears to listen, swivelling to face her company, as Alija began again to speak. Silas clawed forward from his perch, finding instead relief from the sun just near her withers (not too close; he was none too fond of the fire woven through the tendrils of her mane). He remained silent, watching, always with a careful eye. "You’re most welcome to roost here, and we’re grateful to be receiving you as a healer. I’m sure you could share knowledge with those of us who also hold an interest in your art, and tend well too, our sparring soldiers." Then she turned to Silk, heart fluttering; eyes lashes batting together coyly. "Thank you." Still their numbers were small. He could not have known her appreciation; but soon enough he would see that recruiting such able, willing bodies had become crucial to the herd’s survival.