As pale, golden eyes travelled from Cheska back to her blind sister, the young hawk snared their interest. Ettore was growing well – undeniably, Rasta nurtured him with all of the heart of a soul-mother. Rose-red skin was prickled with maturing feathers, itchy pins like those she had been asked to rub open on many occasions with awkwardly large teeth – unfortunately, it was the only way her avian companion could be rid of those irritating his scalp. She made a conscious effort to drag her gaze from the tiny frame when she realised her jaw was grinding backwards and forwards in anticipation...

Around about the same time, the little chick had found (by way of whiskered nose) a new roost upon the soft-golden mare’s rump, and Silas regarded him with a cold violet eye. Perhaps it was a fine thing that the Roc zephyr had not the appetite for vermin because surely the tiny, bony body would serve as a tasty entre. He thought suddenly of Fina, the countless snakes he had witnessed clasped between her brutal talons, the rabbit... Surely this little creature would make an excellent gift; a chance at winning even a sliver of her interest – because there was no doubting her utter indifference currently.

The frigidness softened quickly, cunningly, and Silas turned his body around to face the warm, bouncing babe. His chest rumbled quietly, purring visible contentedness, though the plan wrought through his mind raged on.

Africa was distracted – naturally – and barely noticed the sly tilt of her bonded’s sharp mind. Each mare before her, softly specked and pale palomino, spoke in turn, and Africa watched on with naught but oblivious cheer written through her expression. Rasta lifted praise to the God of the Earth who had crafted their home, and velvet lips bounced in unison. Though it had taken her unfortunate departure from Dragon’s Throat to really appreciate the tranquil paradise, the Earth in all of his glory had captured her heart (as had their Father’s son...). She said nothing for the moment, musing instead privately about the Gallant who had so unexpectedly risen through her despair like a guardian angel.

The turned at the mention of water, and Africa realised then how parched her throat had become. During her years in the desert, it was habit to visit the lake regularly, at least morning and night – or risk dehydration and death. In the lush region of the Falls however, there always seemed to be mild humidity lingering on an ever whispering breeze, and prolific vegetation casting quite generous shade. The pattern of old had been slipped and the one-winged mare often let an entire day pass without drink.

"Wise words, sister," she chortled tenderly, as lean white forelegs turned to follow. Though eager and talkative, Africa was perhaps not as thoughtful a host as the sensible blind mare. Silas consequently wobbled as his ride began to move, and he opened his glittery wings rapidly to maintain balance. For the time being he pulled his eyes from the little hawk – undoubtedly he would win no applause from the trio of horses.

Africa