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It was indeed fortunate that one as tender-hearted as Africa had stumbled first upon the dark coloured mare; there were many who called the Wilds home (the north too), savages that knew nothing of morals or mercy. The one-winged mare watched with a heedful eye, and she was heartened to find that although her company’s confidence swayed visibly in response to her approach, she did not flee altogether. Small steps – she knew from experience – to overcome a lifetime’s worth of torment. Chiselled, elegant skull tipped a little to the side as the bay inched closer, painfully shy steps that lured naught but the spread of encouragement through fire-glow drenched features.
Silas purred quietly as he watched from above, unmoved by the stranger’s feeble poise, and ruffled his feathers. Another shape caught his notice suddenly as lilac eyes began to wander – the rare, round, green fruit of the redwood, and he slid nearer to the prize with an eager click of his hooked beak.
The stumbling words of the other again filled the air about them, and Africa felt relief engulf her the second a small smile slipped to pull at smoky lips. Ears tipped nearer, curiously, drawn to listen still more carefully as her fractured sentence betrayed her nervousness, and gentle ashen face dipped in unison. “Angelique is pretty,” she soothed, touched by the exotic nature of the name. “Have you a home to return to here in Helovia?” The one-winged mare felt little inclined to delay the question – the discomfort plaguing the bay mare was undeniable, and she knew well that there was safety to be found behind the waterfall.
Tender eyes parted long enough to scan the shaggy forest surrounding. She was ever alert to the movement of others around her, cautious though calm, though there seemed to be no others nearby. Africa was in no hurry, and her smooth, patient posture portrayed that. Gaze drifted back quietly to find the timid expression of the other and the feathers thatched across the lonely wing to her side, ruffled.
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