Silas sat chest deep in the cool, rich green foliage of the strawberry patch he had found during one foraging trip alone, a few days before. The fruit growing were scarcely red, still quite tart, though he gobbled them all with ravenous delight and little regard for the hungry birds balanced in the meshed branches overhead; watching with bowed heads, dismay dulling their shining gaze. When a shadow passed across them all, lilac eyes shot towards the sky and they widened when they found the radiant fire glow of Fina- she was not difficult to spot in general, but this occasion, he felt, was not simply a patrol. Eyes still set upon the Phoenix, he called without noise to his bonded, Midas has need for you...

Ears tipped forward as the message slipped suddenly through her thoughts. Africa had been dozing beneath the shadow of the mountain, respite that had been seldom achieved in more recent times. She sprang with haste from the courtyard outside the cells, hooves clattering as she ascended the weaving trail she had come by then to appreciate – where rock sank or root curled beneath the rich valley soil, there was less chance of slipping and she sought such with each lunge along the way. Silas glided just beyond, one keen violet eye attracted by the fireball above, and hidden ears listening carefully to the stride of the mare travelling below.

They travelled right to the borderline; the narrow cliff-face path which wove precariously beneath cascading torrents of water, slick with moss and algae, both of which appealed little to the naturally clumsy grey mare. Instead she transformed into the form of a stocky grey parrot and trailed the swifter zephyrs right over the rocky peak to the other side. As she descended, there lay a creature she had not ever expected to set eyes upon again. Hastily she landed by them, Midas and the mare, hooves staggering forth before even the rest of her slim build had fully morphed back into a horse.

“Goddess... Confutatis...” she cried softly, falling across sooty knees by the familiar mare’s shoulder. The other had claimed demurely not be such a deity at the time, but Africa still remembered so vividly that dream, the conversation, a warning that darkness would devour what would not fight it... She was yet to learn of the macabre rumours circulating. "Pray, are you hurt? Where have you come from?” Voice rattled with concern as tender lips roamed shamelessly across the horribly visible mountain of ribs towards hips even more pointed than her own. Gentle eyes surveyed the fallen creature with rising sadness; the dark lady was barely recognizable – though the shadows in the cave had obscured her well enough during their last meeting.

Africa lifted again, distress etched through her expression, and she neared Confutatis’ gaunt, ugly face – it had not always been so, unpleasant. The putrid stench of decay filled her fluttering nostrils and the one-winged gagged and pulled again away. "What happened Midas? Do you know what is wrong with her?” Her gaze searched his dark features hopefully, tracing the golden markings which fell from each eye and a weak, thoughtful smile pulled away the grimace which had been. Wincing, she stole another glance; one more attempt to find sign of the injury that was causing such a nauseating reek. She was yet to draw healing vines from this sacred soil of their land’s patron, but grim desperation and bursting empathy began to lure tiny earth-caked sprouts out from beneath their snow-covered bed beneath the World Eater.