Besotted, naturally, Africa lingered with a low strung crest to view eagerly the interaction between father and child. Flame danced frivolously to cure the darkness all around them, deeper still beneath the rock, and it shed a warm, soothing glow; enigmatic, because the mild heat of the night grew no worse. She was glad for Tallsun’s blessing that night, if only because this beloved child was not born into biting cold wind-chill. The hot season had become only another reminder of the chain of past failings, and she looked forward longingly to the moment leaves began to dull on the trees; for now though, a new distraction had entered her life.

As the commotion inside the cavern lulled altogether, Silas peered down from his perch with a narrow, nervous eye. Still he dared not slip into the chaos of her thoughts – the pulse of her emotions through him was yet to ease, and for the first time fear ran ripe through his bloodstream. He guarded it from her cautiously, like even Fina might do, with a meal.

For a while the filly seemed to hold focus upon her father, but she turned sooner than Africa had expected; her brow creased and in concerned motion twitching mouth moved to brush the stallion’s obsidian cheek. She felt a devastating need to bind their relationship, to see affection season between them and secure it – such was the weight of her maternal drive and reeling hormones in the moment. But Midas seemed not to falter and moved to touch the soft, silky hair adorning the babe, and with baited breath the new mother watched.

Soon enough, their daughter’s childlike gaze returned to view him, and relief spread instantly through the one-winged mare’s being. There was no trace of the fear or reluctance anticipated; there, written upon her delicate, fine face was only innocence. So pure was the soul before them that Africa felt a surge of resolution sweep beneath her skin – there was nothing more important than her daughter, and for the child’s sake she would shed all reservation about the past.

A sound broke her thought.

She realised suddenly, that she had bristled defiantly – ashen facade lifted high – and rapidly sank again to tend to the foal. Lips nuzzled the downy hair between lazy ears, and they traced a path down the soft, cropped mane until she was within range again, of that sloping, winged shoulder. Lightly she nudged it, paused, and gently urged it again. Africa wanted the filly to rise, to perhaps drink if her strength allowed – if they dithered, surely she would only weaken further. Her understanding was unexplainable, certainly she had never felt so inclined to insist any other suckle, but milk streamed readily down the inside of her thighs, lighting a fragrant path that the foal would intuitively follow.

“She... she has two wings...” the dappled whispered softly to Midas, eyes filled to the brim with natural apprehension. Their daughter had moved to the mare’s warm flank and she preened dotingly the small tuft of hair available (it had been tucked snug between gangly hind legs previously).