There seemed to be little room for vain ponderings, and certainly not the time to voice the myriad questions spinning wildly beneath the throbbing pulse in her ears. The flecked-white stallion’s affliction was frighteningly obvious, and though something, gratitude perhaps, seemed to ignite in Essetia’s cool, pale gaze, the weariness in her posture stole the dappled medic’s attention. Fond heart lurched as the fading stranger seemed to sway visibly in the small stream of wing, and lightly whiskered lips very nearly reached as though to brace his other side. Instead though, she centred her balance, tethered her focus and closed light-golden eyes before them.

Earth, her mind whispered almost desperately, humming softly the tune that had raised them before... There is need for your touch, for the vines you have honoured me with, and as she shivered beneath the warm, warning caress of sunlight, small sprouts began to evolve from the littered soil by their hooves. Come, she beckoned delicately, Come... and though she could see naught but dancing lights through her darkness, Africa could feel the energy of the stirring vines as they coiled ever upwards in search of the ill. As green as budding spring, but splashed in the rich, cleansing dirt of their Father, the plants went to work covering the stallion; cloaking him securely in a warm, restorative mesh whether he stood still in place, or staggered weakly to the earth – they would aide him nevertheless, catching him and protect him.

The vines began to recede once all trace of injury, of infection and infirmity had diminished; not a moment sooner. The Starry-Eyed listened intently to their song, the harmony of the trees caressed by the breeze and the roaring falls just nearby, and something alike to ecstasy peaked, surging suddenly through her trembling core. The vines vanished back into their glorious bed, and thick lashes fluttered finally apart. An overwhelming tiredness swamped her – the art of healing was still knew to her, awesome and exhausting, but even though she swayed beneath the fog of euphoric fatigue, a bright smile spread through her expression.

“I’m Africa, Earth Medic of the Falls...” she breathed breathlessly towards the pale stranger, whether or not he had recovered enough to notice – barely able to fight the relentless tug of gravity now herself. She mentioned vaguely afterward as her thoughts began to spin wildly behind a sudden closed-clench of her eyes, “Essetia, I will catch up.” She teetered down the trail along which the couple had struggled, before sinking headlong into the grass, into a torturous writhing world - she was coming down. Silas watched from above, familiar by now with the effect the Earth’s magic had, but not so witlessly affected as his beloved.