The crowd came from nowhere to view the marvel that hung suspended amid a mist of weak starlight. Africa thought roughly that seven or so had come, more perhaps, and her pale, engrossed gaze drifted quietly between their shadowy, softly-lit faces unable to tell apart easily who was familiar, with those who were not – she could see vaguely the telltale spots of Rei, and the mirror-like image of the stallion who kept company with a reckless bear cub. The subtle aroma of desert, of long ago memories tempted her searching nostrils further, but alas the air was too bitter, and lungs burnt whenever she inhaled deeply, and she coughed lightly and glanced back to the spitting ball of unnerving blue.

At that moment a voice crackled through the air, wicked, sparkling, and the lowly one-winged could have sworn the sound emanated from above, from the orb still hovering. Ears twitched uncertainly, incredulous, as the message descended upon them, teasing and playful, and her skin crawled as a sudden wind picked up through the group’s middle as though it were stirred by the flurrying feet suggested. Silas, what is going on? she wondered silently through the bond shared with her companion, but the Roc was no wiser than she – he was perched upon her back, feathers bristled, chest purring uneasily.

As the eerie laughter began to subside, there seemed to be a heavy silence across the snow-laden Steppe and Africa held her breath expectantly – but for what, she was almost frightened to find out. A wave of trepidation engulfed her, fuelled by her loathing for northern Helovia, and she thought gutlessly about turning to slip through the dim, haunting glow to flee. There was however, a murmur, a call somewhere off to one side, and the idea quickly vanished as her face fell to that direction. ‘Africa...’ Both companion and Pegasus were taken by surprise.

“Cirrus?” she breathed confusedly, the note of her delicate voice perhaps too low for any other to perceive. Struggling eyes found the silhouette of the familiar mare – a sister of the Sun who had been missing for too long, and through the befuddlement stretched visibly through her expression inched a hopeful smile. There were questions forming, brewing, and they compelled tentative hooves forward through the cold, wet snow; but she stopped suddenly again to listen as the other mare gestured her way, declaring so generously something that both excited and terrified the meek grey.

Another spoke after, the Unicorn Africa had avoided moments before. She spoke of fairness, her tongue well spoken, clever and her tone smooth; of a game to test their brains and determine the worthiest of all. Although the Starry-Eyed was not opposed to the ball, the gift being given to another (though stunned by the selfless generosity of the once desert mare), she was nervous about his new proposal – she knew well that a cunning mind she had not. Eyes flicked back beneath the warm tint of fire to find Cirrus as she spoke again. Legs had inched closer, and as words faded once more, the pink-snipped nose slipped forward tenderly. “Perhaps there is an easier way?” she cooed hopefully, turning timorously towards the crowd around them.

“Why not draw feathers? I offer mine...” she suggested spreading open her only wing. The idea was bland maybe, but the fairest she could find. They could decide which length – longest or shortest should win, and then each pluck one with their eyes turned away. The black quills would be bright against the softly lit snow.

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Words: 593
Summary: Africa is noticeably touched by Cirrus’ generosity, but to appease the others suggests that they each draw blindly a feather from her wing after deciding whether longest or shortest should win.