It seemed to be the regular nature of their intricate relationship – one crumbling like weather-beaten shale as the strain of life grew unbearable, and the other bristling and setting aside woes of their own in show of support. Were they really so different inside?

The Gallant breathed ‘Seele...’ and the snaking, powder-white wind devoured it hungrily, roused into frenzy as though his melancholy were fuel for its restless belly.

Flames licked wildly along the outstretched length of the mare’s pitched nape – fire whose constant glow now reminded her only of sacrilege and infidelity. She had wished so terribly to impress Him, to sway His proud, pristine view so that He might in turn feel she was a worthy follower. Why though? Why not the Moon? Why not Time or Earth? Because all she had ever known was the desert – His desert. Without Midas though, that southern land felt unbearably barren and lonely, not at all like the home she had known.

There was no chance to revel in self pity though now, and sympathetic, sunken eyes touched delicately the sober expression that seemed to fall like a veil across the raven-black sheen of his face.

The name Seele was familiar. Africa remembered her as the leader of the Asylum, an ally of the Throat through the ages, and more recently the Czarina of Hidden Falls.

Dapple grey head fell as the weight of amassing confusion grew too much, and she gazed for a second with scattered focus at the wet satchel in the snow. She was all too familiar with death; the pain of loss which lingered in those left behind long after bones had bleached through turning seasons. She remembered still the haunting, glazed stare of unconscious eyes, the gruesome shudder of departing life and the unnerving still of a body without breath after – crimson snow, harrowed flesh... horned demons turning her way. Gulping fearfully, she lifted her eyes again. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered sorrowfully.

As the blizzard thickened around them, the Gallant’s winged shoulders seemed to stiffen and his resolve to strengthen – be that for better or worse. Even if Africa had wished to console him at length with words, he offered her not the chance. Her throat lifted to the tune of his remark, and she nodded quietly, masking for now the grave uncertainty lingering in her heart. She thought suddenly when he mentioned warmth that he was referring to desert sand, and hesitated with trembling knees, lips extending promptly to draw him back should he be in any sort of rush. “Wait...” she blurted anxiously, “let us go north to your home – please?” And though she’d not meant it, her shaking voice was nearly pleading.