She hovered indecently above the fallen stallion, bewildered and frightened by the lack of reason in eye. Both fathomless golden pools fluttered open suddenly, wide, though it seemed as though his sight were numb – to her, to the gloriously bright day around them and the small distance remaining from the border to their home. She wanted to whisper, to draw him from oblivion’s distance, but there was a chilling, almost haunting despondency about him.

Africa shuffled nearer, caressing the silken threads of his black mane where they slumped between his ears. Each breath was short and sharp as she struggled subtly to stir him into the present, but it was all in vain and he seemed to slip further with each second passing them by. Grim eyes lifted towards the sprawling timber arms above – Fina’s smouldering form stood by, stunned it seemed, so unusually silent. Neve was with her, and her own companion (a vivid contrast to them both) had alighted across a branch nearby.

What’s going... the one-winged mare began to ask desperately through the bond that united them, but a stranger’s voice broke her thought – the silence – and her gaze tumbled instantly to find the stallion flinching horribly. Anger grew suddenly; it was ripe through his sunk posture, tone, and it frightened the helpless mare. She watched on feebly with crawling skin as he spoke on, convinced perhaps that there was another with them, but all she could do was touch him occasionally to see if his illusion had weakened.

It was difficult to determine if he was conscious or...

The dappled mare knew him as nothing but demure, loyal and fashioned with morals even to rival the strength of her own, but the words that fell from Midas’ tongue in that moment caused her blood to curdle and her bowels to twist - ‘I’ll kill ye.’

“Wake up, please!” she called, a fear in her voice that echoed right through her trembling core. “Wake... Midas...” Tender breath stroked feverishly about his fallen face and ears, travelling along the length of his onyx-black neck until the cold metal collar slung snug about his shoulders broke the smooth. In a last bid attempt to pull him free of the invisible prison – she could see it no other way – Africa sank mercifully her blunt incisors into the damp, taught sinew wrought through his neck.

Though the assault was meant for the better and lack any true weight, she recoiled swiftly to evade the rise of any reprimand which might in turn follow.