They arrived back in the meadow as instructed, and Africa’s delicate gaze swiftly came to rest upon the expanding bulk of fresh timber and vine. She had seen nothing like it in her past. The God of the Earth was still toiling it seemed, though she could barely make sense of the structure in any stage of completeness. It was a sight to behold regardless, inspiring and astonishing where it stood, dominating the gaping field, though she made no secret of her wish to remain at a distance.

The bulge of her swelling barrel pressed close.

Warm lips wandered nearer to Midas (his presence soothed her), to find the steep black shoulder between cold metal and feather, and they nibbled gently at the hot, sleek hair across it. While the world turned to chaos around them, she could not deny how impressed she had been by the stallion’s clarity throughout – not a feather of his had been ruffled in the chaos, not even the bat of an eyelid. She supposed it was this tendency and composure that made him such a fine leader (so much better than she had ever even hoped to be).

Steamy breath lolled across him, blending easily into the still, hot air surrounding.

The God began to speak again, and the deep sound of his resonating voice drew her focus quickly to the front. At the same time, the crowd began to move like a rolling sea of colour and she noted as she glided forward in suit, that some were leaving again already with a bucket. She and Midas neared the front, and as they stepped at last up to the working deity, he explained that they were to fetch water and return with it so that none may suffer thirst.

A straight forward task she thought quietly, taking the bucket quickly before the stallion beside her could reach – “Pleashe, woujou mind bringing it back?” She smiled humbly, well prepared to carry her share of the task. Africa would certainly not allow her peculiar health of late stand in the way – and gathered her groaning legs beneath ready to leave.

Though Midas was quite evidently the more level-headed, appropriate leader, the one-winged mare appreciated him letting her feel (even somewhat) in control of each duty they were given. With a bold stride she lead northeast, of course, again to the one destination in Helovia that gave her a sense of security – Hidden Falls. The melted-snow streams and fall-fed pools were a delicacy indeed, and she felt like a contribution from their home would be a nice gesture; a token of their gratitude, in a sense...

The bucket swung awkwardly as she shifted often between a swift canter and trot; the handle was an awkward shape to carry, and her untimely weight-gain harried any journey she made. But they arrived, at last, and Africa quickly placed the God’s vessel upon the soft loam. “Which stream should we take from?” she asked pointlessly, having slipped already through a pool and a waterfall along the way.