Drip...

Drip...

Drip...

On ear tipped forward, angled and attentive to December should the shire bless their humble shelter with any further conversation, and the other swivelled to find the trickle of water which now leaked into in from the craggy sill above the doorway. There was nothing uncomfortable about the silence that grew like dense fog around them, Africa’s weight swayed towards the wall nearby discreetly and she found rest against the cold, damp stone of the mountain. She had spent many nights alone; cowering nervously where Midas had left her once the blizzard had subsided, waiting and wondering. December’s cool, calm company seemed to dissolve the anticipation and eliminate any concern lingering about the nature of the Falls folk; Adelis had been a charming occurrence, but fickle as the weather...

Lungs pulled deeply the clammy air and were about to purge a hefty sigh when the squelch of hooves outside in the thickening mud signified the arrival of another.

Creamy eyes widened beneath the flutter of dark lashes, surveying curiously the movement as it drew near through the veil of rain; murky, saturated bronze, limp flaxen hair glued against it. I think I’ve seen her before... she mentioned privately to Silas who grumbled softly behind her. They Starry-Eyed was entertained by his reserve, and a meek smile flashed by her lips. There had been a time months ago that the Starry-Eyed had come with both Midas and Laedere from the Threshold – the bandaged Pegasus mare had been in desperate need of healing (though it quickly became apparent that the damage was permanent). As the trio had journeyed across the slippery, mossy cliffs to the Falls on that occasion, this lithe chestnut had joined them, and later another, Reizend.

Drom! Her name was Drom...

A gentle smile teased grey lips apart, revealing pale pearly teeth in a gesture that was both arm and inviting. The Starry-Eyed noticed the other’s golden expression drop as she lingered longer in the wet, like someone had forced the weight of ill-news upon her narrow shoulders and it had wounded her. There had been no such occurrence though, and quietly she glanced by December for reassurance (the ashen Equine mare grew ridged), and the newcomer’s greeting (the mention of the former title) to follow was equally disconcerting, bland, and barely anything louder than the drum of the rain around her. Africa lifted from the cave wall and straightened as Drom smiled finally, and asked for entry – who was she to refuse cover? The larger mare also shifted to allow more room (although there was very little to spare). “Of course,” she answered though a half smile and hooves shuffled further toward the rear.

Set back in the shadows where only the illumination of fire shed any light, and with the stench of soggy, steamy hide choking her lungs, the Starry-Eyed caught mention of the cloak which still lay strewn across a strip of vegetation. “It is, yes,” she murmured in response, sooty-ears resting back beneath the waltzing flame. “A good bath was in need.” Africa failed to mention that the soft fabric had been screwed up and stuffed for seasons in the leather satchel still laying somewhere beneath their three bodies – Midas had carried it for her from the rim of the Threshold and the one-winged had only moved it to pull out the cloak. Had she known to expect such numerous company, she might have tidied up appropriately.