The sun had risen almost to its regal pinnacle in the bright blue sky. The valley was steamy and warm and the residue of recent rainfall lingered in pools wherever the earth sagged underfoot; glittering in crystalline beads across leaf and litter.

Africa marvelled at the phenomenal beauty of this home, her sanctuary, and strode with a new confident aura, for the first time, beyond the prison cells inside which she had made her bed of late. Midas had visited for the first time since her arrival mid-blizzard, Frostfall, and her heart was filled to the brim with optimism - a sentiment rarely felt since Helovia’s Darkness, since he had left the desert sands for this valley. The painted Czar had given her new responsibility and purpose, a healthy distraction with which to occupy her time and thoughts and Africa was more than grateful for the privilege to serve his herd, and that of his Lord, the God of the Earth.

Although her step still seemed a little tentative as she moved along, there was not the nagging worry flinching through her dull, dappled hide; nor the apprehensive guilt pinching her delicate, kindly expression. She felt near weightless – like her hooves were not shackled by the curse of gravity any longer and her lonely wing stretched upwards and outwards, the lax muscles lining bone quivering to life. Africa rarely used the limb, it was no longer functional; the cruellest of punishments, but it bothered her little nowadays. She beat it down heavily, though only new itchy barbs lined its length – they wooshed loudly as the humid air rushed between them, and then she folded it down again against her slim flank. Her plucking had been so damaging that many feathers threatened not to regrow this time. Between the flaking, white sheaths were empty follicles, bald patches, though the newly frivolous creature seemed hardly to notice.

A trail, muddy and quite slippery, wove its way up steep slope between rock, pool and scrub, and Africa followed it curiously. Her dark ears were tipped forward, straining through the blissfully bright ambience of mid-day, searching for sign of any other who called the Falls home. There had been neither sign or mention of Dragon’s Throat by the few she had met already- December, Adelis, and it gave her vain hope that her whereabouts was yet to be discovered by those she had plainly abandoned. She wasn’t sure in truth, if she ever wanted to rejoin the desert ranks; the morale had changed, the peaceful intelligence she and Sohalia the Transcended had struggled to instil had been more or less been for nothing she felt- once a Spartan nation always a Spartan nation.

The one-winged mare was for the most part glad she had fled. Though cowardly and pathetic, the action had delivered her into the bosom of the stallion who she had missed so gravely- wherever he led, was where she belonged.

That was becoming more and more obvious...

Hooves slipped clumsily on slick mud and clattered loudly as a sudden sideward stagger found improved traction upon granite. Heart lurched, thundered, and for a second she paused upon splayed legs to regroup. Pale eyes glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed the blunder, but only the circling shadow of her companion above moved by.