The cave the Gallant stallion had fashioned into the face of the mountain, lay close by to the southernmost entrance into their home – a treacherous route indeed, though wonderfully convenient as it delivered game hearts directly into the old redwood forest beyond. The nest was concealed some, by the rich foliage of shrubs, blanketing shade and long grass that was scarcely travelled by any other. It had, however, quite clean view of the worn track as it wove away into the valley below, and often Africa caught glimpse of bodies travelling to and fro.

An unexpected sight pulled her from rest on that particular afternoon. A small, swift footed figure breezed by the periphery of her awareness, and curiously she stirred her sleeping child to wake. Moments later, the low thrum of voices rose through the tranquillity of the Falls’ wilderness (the conversation was incomprehensible as crashing water fought to drown it), and pale, yellow eyes slipped from their cover to investigate the arrivals. There were two – Rostislav who she knew of - and another winged stallion that it seemed she did not.

Zahra moved obediently to her mother’s flinching flank, bleary eyed and doddery, and nuzzled greedily beneath.

The one-winged mare’s tail flicked sharply however, and she stepped from the shelter of their den to cut a lean path towards the duo. The feathers adorning the lone wing to her right ruffled as lifted it high enough to rest (lopsidedly) across her back, and she offered to each stallion a warm smile as she neared. Briefly, out of habit, gaze sliced upwards to the sentry point often manned by her mate. She could not see whether he was there on this occasion or not, and upon returning her attention touched her smoky-grey nose to the withers of the filly – whose fearlessness had tempted her even closer than her mother.

Twin eyes, four glistening in the sunlight, watched with baited interest.

“Hello Rostislav,”she greeted the warrior with warmth ridding her tone. Thoughtfully she turned to the stranger and smiled. “I’m Africa and this is Zahra…” Silas too was nearby, observing from the sprawling forest canopy, but there seemed little point in his introduction at that particular moment and instead she fell into expectant silence – ready to learn of the newcomer’s name and purpose. Even during her time in the desert, she had paid close attention to the faces who crossed the border; she was a kindly creature after all, and despite reservations fuelled by the past, Africa wanted to set a sound example for her daughter to follow.