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She had seen many hardships herself - knew the pain of a tortured past all too well. Africa was a misfortunate soul, be that a cruel fate dealt or her own reoccurring ignorance, though she had come to terms with the fact that problems seemed always near. She was a magnet, in a sense, a beacon that drew the eyes of irony constantly, yet her nature had not soured as a result. There were moments of course, when she threw metaphorical arms to the wind – bewildered, unhappy, but she was determined nonetheless to seek the best out of every opportunity.
Silas, a blessing when she had lost all hope; her flight and freedom...
Rasta, when the weight of isolation had grown too much even for her to bear...
Midas, stitches to aid healing of a wounded heart...
The other mare, Angelique, spoke again and Africa noticed immediately the absence of nervous stuttering. Though internally she smiled ever brighter, she let the composure remain trained through her natural, gentle expression. Baby steps, she knew. A lifetime of pain, of suffering and melancholy – mental affliction and scarring, they were all awfully complex, and even the most benevolent of hearts could not cure such damage so quickly. “You’re welcome to come with me to Hidden Falls, make a home for yourself and rest a little more easily.” The gesture was open, a kind gesture should she seek such.
The smile resonated at last through shining eyes, compassionate and quiet.
“There are many like me – like yourself; and an army to keep you safe. Our Czar is Midas, the Gallant and Ghost, the Cadaverous stands as his Czarina. They would welcome you fondly.” Thoughts lingered momentarily on the black and white stallion – he who had pulled her from the very brink of despair, when bitterness and guilt had left gaping wounds in her heart. Africa trusted Midas above any other.
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