A sweet breeze swept down through the valley and the hue of nectar was rich upon its breath. Pale morning light seeped across the sky, dissolving the cool night shade away and inviting roosting birds to stir; they woke, one by one, throwing ringing salutation towards the lofty, brightening horizon and burst into vibrant song that shattered night’s eerily silent grip.

It was so different to a desert dawn.

Of course there was boisterous birdlife tempted to life by the promise of sunlight in the Throat, but there was unique tranquillity about the Falls – the soothing, constant gush of falling water (audible from any part of the lush, leafy region), the murmur and chorus of the birds, the soft fragrant presence of new spring grass and budding, blossoming trees all around, flourishinglife. Africa was fascinated, enraptured. She thought less and less of the dusty, brackish world she had left behind; occasionally both grim and fond memories caused her settling heart to lurch, but for the most part, she was relieved to stand amid the Gallant’s lovely lands.

At first light the dapple grey Pegasus moved from the cover of her den and Silas departed into the tree-tops to forage.

Most of the ice had melted already from the clear blue face of the pond; it had been rapid since she had fractured it with a striking hoof a week or more before. The waterfall spewing down from the granite tors above had doubled and its steady, unremitting presence had become both fond company and reassurance for the mare who hid away, still with chronic guilt; but she knew a few of those who dwelt in the Falls now, and even looked forward to periodic, intelligent companionship. Her swinging stride had long since shed the fear and suspicion which mirrored her thoughts and an effortless grace had returned her tall, slim posture. Her condition was still pitiful, sickly and scrawny, but her appetite was yet to come again fully; despite this, the air about her was again one of cheerfulness and vigour; gentle eyes shone brilliantly, warm and friendly.

Perhaps it was the arrival of Birdsong which had renewed her, or maybe it was the quiet reigniting of passion in her heart...

Dark coal-grey lips dashed subtly with vivid pink (they were moist now, soft and without any sand-dust residue); brushed the surface of the water and pale eyes watched meditatively the ensuing ripples. She likened them to waves left in wake of the course of her life – sometimes they were barely noticeable, she passed with little consequence quite how she preferred; but often lately, those ripples resembled a violent ocean current and such perception unsettled her humble heart. Her mind had gained some clarity through the days spent here however, and already there was simmering new confidence; courage enough to confront sullied memories and began a plan of action. Lashes blinked and chin lifted above a dribble of cool water. Her mood was too good to toil into the past though...

There was a voice from the tree line across the way to the west, a murmur, her name upon the breeze. Curious eyes danced around to find the source, although alert ears had already determined it to be Midas. Eagerness rose through her expression as she scanned the foliage and found the broken, shadowy silhouette of the stallion lingering just beyond view. “Midas?” Tone was merry, playful. “...why are you lurking like a stranger in your own home?” Dark knees lifted high as she loped forward to find him, fire dragging out behind like a golden-red cape.

Africa