There was a rush through her veins, intoxicating, warm, like the deep-spring waters she had bathed an aching, broken body in so long ago to one corner of the Basin; it felt almost as stunning. It pooled first in her hooves as though the earth beneath had purged some phenomenal essence, and then lifted slowly through tingling legs so that fine hairs prickled and lifted from the heating skin below. It leaked through her core finally with all of the effervescent glory of songbirds greeting a new dawn and the flames along her crest whirled in furious excitement as the magic slipped up the length of her arched neck; spilling then into her skull, and pooling behind a pale mask of grey where it drew forth a bright drunkard’s blush. The Starry-Eyed shuddered visibly, deeply impressed, and she inhaled deeply as almond-round gaze clenched closed.

Then at last the sensation seemed to evaporate as though from gaping pours, and Africa’s brightened eyes flashed open.

Thank you, she prayed silently, turning her gratitude firstly to the heavens; and then to the Gallant who stood by grinning the one-winged mare smiled broadly, toothily, and gushed warmly, "Thank you, Midas the Ascended." There was perhaps the smallest air of affection in her tone, but mostly it was laced with solemn respect and thankfulness which mirrored the overwhelming feeling in her heart. He suggested then delicately and thoughtful her eyes sought quickly the steadiness of the ground – she wasn’t sure how His magic worked!

As it were, the longer she stared down – soft spring grass and the smiling faces of budding wildflowers inspiring her thoughts, the more focused she became and at last tiny emerald shoots began to bloom amid the natural Birdsong growth. With a lengthening grin, Africa gazed dotingly down at them. "Come on..." she whispered to them encouragingly, both charmed and excited that power within her had called to life something so beautiful. For a moment she forgot that Midas was with her, she was engrossed, captivated; had she remembered she might have blushed and thought herself a little silly. The vines grew still larger, tempted from slumber by kindly tones, though there was no wound to which they felt drawn and they swayed in the mild breeze uncertainly without any direction. The Starry-Eyed felt their confusion. It was almost as intuitive as the language she shared with Silas.

"Sleep now..." she continued soothingly, voice as soft as dawn-light, and the young plants melted back into the grass covered soil from whence they had been summoned.

Africa