Dappled frame slithered dutifully from the shadowy depths of her den, heavy in spirit and step, in wake of the passionate night they had spent together the season before, and the consequences coming at last to light. Pale eyes looked only ahead, filled with zest and (more subtly) zeal, nonetheless; she looked forward always to their reunion. They were searching not the path which her skilled hooves traced alongside shale and saccharine pasture, but the timber tree line in the distance, for any glimpse of him waiting. Africa moved at an ambling trot, burdened, though swinging strides that had been frail and uninspired only months before, and above the elegant curve of her steady neck whirled vigorous flame through the breeze.

She was a beacon of light as she passed the main meadow en route to the passage beneath the waterfall. Fire licked through leaves as she ducked, but their graze was but a harmless glow in the wee hour. In the satchel fastened tightly beneath her elbow was the shrivelled corpse of a slug she had forgotten to feed, enormous crushed feathers, old weathered treasures she had collected through the years, and above everything lay a multitude of green growth; herbs (almost) that she had been asked to collect from around their home. In truth she still knew very little about the flora in the Falls, she was yet to find the other healer - Kiara the elusive, Africa often mused – but had done her very best to pluck the greenest, most fragrant plants around.

They were all tightly packed into the little swollen bag.

Carefully she passed through the lapping water near the Earth’s shimmering pool and groaning knees staggered up the grassed embankment on the other side. Silas swept in from the sky at that point, clucking fondly in greeting, and soft, whiskered nose turned awkwardly to bush against the thick cloak of black feathers. Are you ready? she asked thoughtfully while admiring the shimmer of delicate starlight upon him, and he settled himself down to roost through the morning in the hollow of her back. Nostrils snorted softly, and she set off again at a gentle walk to close the remaining distance between them and the looming grey cliffs.

Eager gaze traced his poised outline even before the click of hooves against stone arrived beside him. Lips danced forward to touch in greeting, and thick lashes fluttered across creamy eyes like gilded butterflies in a giddy maze. The fever of affection was yet to calm in her soul, and taught (soggy) canvas of skin rippled with anticipation. “Morning sir,” she saluted playfully with warmth lacing her tone, and a coy smile spread almost instantly through pallid features as her skull dipped demurely to the side.