The silence was deafening, startling, intimidating.

It had been something Africa had not really anticipated, especially given the torrent of tears unleashed to stain his cheeks still a darker shade of black; the flood of words, of raw emotion which had moments before unravelled the anguish of his thoughts before her. He was a broken man draped like old web before an empty, sunless horizon... a future that had been planned around her - his love and his life. She realised this. The dappled mare was not oblivious to the wound she had dealt him, and so cruelly at that; she was so fickle in love.

There was cold, hard stillness between them, building, threatening to shake the resolve from her very shoulders. He was vulnerable, yet she was crushed by the weight of his mourning; this torture. Still weathered skin rippled visibly across her jutting bones, transparent worry, and she swayed as the throb in her ears grew to an unbearable level - as the frenzy which had been, all seemed to dissolve away into nothing. Africa drew a deep breath and held it.

His hurting gaze wavered beneath thrashing lashes as though in vain effort to subdue the emotion that poured forth still, residual, helpless grief from his breaking heart. She watched broodingly, strength weakening as his seemed suddenly to grow. Anger flared and his sleek body seemed to bristle before her – it was terrifying, no matter how brief, for she had known only the softest of his moods.

Silk... she sighed, but it was nothing.

He was speaking, at last; words to question her control, pinch her conscience and erode all of the courage she had mustered to face this... him. She likened his admission to one made by Midas about the mare he once loved deeply, Ktulu the Constrictor – there had been similar sorrow wrought into his face, and Africa thought it to be more than ironic that Silk should now suffer that same fate. Yellow, creamy eyes withdrew unhappily and tumbled down across the ground between them, but his brilliant leathery wingspan unfurled and threw her beneath deep shadow – dark, dour, and she was compelled to look back. Water began to pool, to boil and scald her mottled grey cheeks, slowly, barely. Was this truly what she wanted?

It was over... it was too late.

Say something...

A hurricane of memories filled her mind suddenly though as his melancholy eyes held her, for just one last time; they ignited like a wildfire, a frenzy, breathing last minute life into the love that had been.

A fire crackled softly as the pale face of the moon shone down and the soft sombre tune of both glory and loss rose above it. She was there, the Diviner, the Sun’s keeper, and it was her voice which lifted ode to the starry-night. He appeared through the darkness thuggish, gruff and in a manner that Africa had thought so curious – so unique. She remembered, and one more hot remorseful tear rolled free of its weir, how he had been so fearless; how his whiskers had singed revoltingly when he had reached to touch the sacred flame of Dragon’s Throat. The faintest of smiles reflected beneath glassy eyes, but the sadness blurring them was far too potent.

The waves were rolling behind them suddenly, the gentle roar of the ocean, with brackish mist beading across their shadow-licked coats. The brilliantly familiar scent of it rose to meet her sucking nostrils as they lifted, and her lungs choked for a moment, desperately holding onto the illusion; their memory... It had been only the second meeting between them, but even so early her heart had been a flutter with unbridled intrigue, infatuation – that was true. He had questioned without hesitation the sadness owned by her gentle heart, the agony of gravity, the scar which had been so raw across her shoulder still. It was the first time they had touched, and suddenly she remembered the beautiful chemistry which had evolved, all from that moment.

He had found access into her vulnerable soul; a way in that she had never realised existed, that she had been powerless to deny him.

Silk had been that first key to her healing.

She fell from fond dreams with a tender smile and thundering heart, but all hope vanished when she realised he was gone. No trace of him remained, not even the hue of his company had been spared by the wicked breeze which combed the flickering fire crown she wore. As her pained face sank into the ruins of reality, tears began to tumble from burning eyes. Her heart felt as though it might burst at any moment and her throat was filled with stiff grief. Sooty knees turned then towards the baron prison she called home, thoughts spinning, cursed with realisation as grim as death – loss, raw and bitter. And she collapsed between cold, stone walls.... Africa, the Starry-Eyed.

He has given up on me...