It had been a task put off for too long. Bits and pieces, items once treasured and cherished, lay scattered across the grassy embankment by the stream outside her den. Among the rubbish was the broken, fossilised figure of a three year old star fish that once had been splashed with vivid colour (now bleached and plain); there was a holey shell, spiked and unusual, but most of the spines lining its rim had been snapped away; there were three bruised, black cherry blossom flowers that she had intended to have crystallised for her friends, Rei and Nasreen and placed on chains to wear (they were part eaten); the speck remains of the withered slug she had forgotten about from World’s Edge (and she cringed a little, guilt stinging her conscience) - in a poor attempt to contest the feeling her thoughts whispered to Silas, well I bet you’re glad you feed yourself?

Eyes were filled with sorrow as they looked across the relics and remains – she had loved them, but apparently not enough to ensure their safety. I need a box. she mused, glancing away and stepping forward to brush each item into the stream and away. A cart... the watching zephyr answered mockingly (though in jest), but Africa loved the idea. Yes! That’s a grand idea! As the shell vanished into the hungry water, Africa turned to the glossy black bird where he roosted patiently in a tree. I suppose we will need wood. Do you think vines might hold it together?

The zephyr hummed thoughtfully. No...

Oh, alright then... What about wheels? Gaze turned vaguely to the trees, the grass, the sky. She pulled to the front of her mind the slim memory of the cart she had seen with Resplendence’s garden the few times she had visited.

She sighed heavily, resigning to the fact that such a feat was probably too ambitious. A chest would be nicer anyway... we could decorate it with stones from the Heart.

They had wasted an enormous amount of time already though that day, and duty called (forever). It was time to make their thrice weekly journey to the Threshold and search for the forlorn and lost, offer the rest and refuge. Lean stockinged forelegs drew her north at a brisk pace, and Silas glided after her, riding thermals higher and higher into the sky. The weather was revoltingly hot, sweat stained her pelt and she was rasping for fresher air even before they had ventured as far as the entrance – she paused, neck bowed and gave herself long enough to recover. Her condition had deteriorated of late, the one-winged mare could not understand why, and her energy was slipping far quicker than she thought it ought to.

Ok... Africa readied herself, drew a breath and began to climb the path which carved a winding route through the side of the cliffs above (and then down to the doorway behind the waterfall) – carefully, with the roar of the tumbling water growing nearer, she cleared distance. As she slipped through water however, and out the other side, a scene which she had little expected was unfolding. Midas was collapsed across the knotted roots of a tree, and a worried cried leaked from fluttering nostrils as she danced forward to help him. “What’s going on? What happened to you?” Confusion and concern engulfed her both physically and mentally, but as she called frantically for Earth’s vines, they flailed around without direction. Lips lowered to brush the forelock from his golden eyes, though they were closed regardless, and she hummed gently as she cast a swift scan by the rest of his body – it seemed to her to be unscathed!