“...Silas, no!”

The haggard, one-winged mare’s voice trilled anxiously through the frigid air as her jaded companion spread his wings and flew away. She danced fretfully across blunted, chipped toes, adrenaline shocking her lethargic body to life; pacing with eyes agape – searching, pleading, begging for the zephyr’s dark form to materialize once again. She was angry with him, resentful, though she could never have known that he had not strayed far. Above and beyond her ability to reckon at that point in time, another set of eyes monitored – a fiery, fierce gaze that was readily and gratefully discovered by the starry black avian, and it was to her that Silas had flown.

I don't need your help! ...her thoughts lashed bitterly after him, but her heart ached with confusion, longing only to find some sense in the calamity that seemed to have claimed her existence. Her knees stiffened suddenly and her jaw did the same, narrowing eyes glared harshly at the point where he had vanished into the Threshold wilderness ahead. Why is this happening to me? ...she wanted to screech into the moaning, icy wind as loudly as she ought. Her snaking neck snapped viciously, sending the flurry of re-energized flames into a whirling frenzy; illuminating her for the entire world to see.

Africa shrank back promptly between the dense undergrowth from which she and the zephyr had crept. She did not want to be seen or found, not like this – she was not ready. The flames riding the fearful bow of her neck began quickly again to dull. The satchel, it was back where she had been standing, but the agitated mare dared not venture out again to find it, instead slipping (oblivious to the hawk-eyes above) back into the Deep forest where the cold silence of winter rose to embrace her return.

The respect she held for Midas the Gallant was immeasurable – it was wrought through eased posture every time he stood close, laced her soft breath whenever she spoke to him, and glazed tender eyes with select care and affection. This time, Africa did not want to burden his shoulder with the weight of her trivial tragedies; the sort that seemed always to flank her as the child he knew. Their time apart as she floundered beneath the struggle of power (while he no doubt glided excellently as always above his own), had pressed heavily on her heart. She had missed his steady company feverishly, and a great many confronting realisations were beginning now to dawn on her.

The giddying and deceptive nature of infatuation was perhaps one...

With a bubble in her throat, emotion choking the breath from her lungs, Africa began hurriedly to nibble the flaked hide across her naked shoulder, to groom pathetically when few feathers remained on the other side to pull... But she stopped suddenly, attention caught by the flutter of golden weight in her mane. What would he think of her now? Grim eyes wheeled to find the bruised wing clutched against her barred barrel and she lifted it hesitantly outwards, cursing silently her compulsion to pick. Never had she damaged herself so awfully.

I need that bag...

Her heart lurched, torn between despair and guilty pride. I need the cloak!

It had been stuffed amidst the rubbish that the mare had collected over time, things that she had treasured; the feathers that were a gift from the Sun who she had forsaken. She felt that guilt turn her stomach and flush like molten shame through her mind. I was never good enough... she consoled herself vainly, as though the God of the Sun had indeed voiced the thought in decree. The dissatisfied burn of his eyes was still etched against her frail confidence, but for now she shunned it, and all memory of Him.

Hasty strides skidded to a halt – the bag lay just ahead.

With wide eyes she scanned the trees around her for movement, surveyed the thinning forest of the Threshold ahead. It was too late; rippling sinew broke clear through snow and timber, and shining silver glinted as the sunlight brushed its surface. Angrily, Africa’s thoughts grazed her companion – but they were apart, he was not there to find. The Gallant’s voice summoned forward her flickering ears just as snow began to melt from the sky, and Africa sneered silently, “HA!” ...at the irony of the situation.