For her entire life, Africa had been plagued by wild, untameable emotion and these always, had been worn helplessly for the whole world to see - well now they were gone. Her long pale skull swung barely clear of the rolling earth beneath, there was no energy left in her soul, no strength in her bones. She was broken, both in spirit and in body, and moved only through the consuming, fog of her depression now for the sake of the daughter she and her lover had brought into the misery of this world. Somewhere ahead, hidden beneath shadowy claws and the stench of decay, little Zahra was waiting - probably half starved, cold and frightened. Though all she wanted to do was drown, throw aching life from the tallest cliff available, the dappled mare could not bear to think of the child so loved, simply withering away by the had of her mother’s neglect. No. Midas would not have his beloved babe abandoned so cruelly. For the sake of them both she ventured through a long week, south, stewing in her wretchedness and her impassable self loathing.

There was one chance left… and so desperately did she miss him, that the concept seemed not nearly as ridiculous as (in truth) it was. She was a shell of the blooming creature which had been. A leaf, hardly alive, drifting along the bleak winds of desperation.

Silas followed her wanderings slowly, silently and sombrely from above. He knew well the pain that consumed her - it chipped relentlessly at his strength and resolve also. It had been nearly a week since he had been able to penetrate the gloom of her thoughts and he worried awfully for her. The blackness that had swallowed her that Frostfall in the Basin when first they had met, paled in comparison to the worthlessness and grief gripping her now. She was sicker than he could ever remember her being - and he suffered gravely in sympathy.

The Deep Forest loomed ahead, dim timber swaying as the cold breath of the impending evening raked through. Africa’s hollow gaze watched wearily and the lungs within expelled a heavy sigh.

Perhaps the foal was already dead…

“Zahra…” her shattered, hoarse voice called out. This was a hopeless endeavour. I will find her, the faithful companion soothed sadly, settling for only a second or two upon her sullied, wasting rump. The Roc preened from amidst dried blood and mud, a sharp twig before opening his glittery wings to leave the mare standing, burning, where the trees began to thicken. As night time fell like monsoon rain about her, Africa huddled against the hard bark of one gnarled old fig. While she waited, eyes closed, shallow breath whispering by pinched nostrils, a plan began to take shape in her twisted, hazy mind - she would travel north, tonight, and find that wretch who had arrived upon the Falls’ doorstep as her lover. She wanted to see him, to feel the warmth of his living breathing body, one last time - to her, in that inescapable pit of agony, the plan seemed entirely plausible.

Eyes ignited with ravenous, perverted excitement. Yes…

They began to search for a place to hide the possessions entrusted to her - to Zahra, and fell quickly upon a large warren. The hole was deep, black, vanishing into the earth below and hastily she piled the items in. They would be safe, she thought brazenly, rashly, and in the same moment the Zephyr returned with the frail looking foal trailing behind. “Zahra…” she choked as fresh boiling tears welled in her eyes. The girl looked so much like her father and it pained Africa enormously to see. “I love you.” she whispered, pressing her dry, whiskered nose against her daughter’s scrawny neck. Then she turned to the hole, stiffened and continued, “So much has happened. Terrible things.

Zahra, we mustn't return to Hidden Falls. Not until your body's grown and your thoughts have matured. It's no longer the home you know. Look, here…” with a heavy hoof lifted, she directed the filly’s attention towards the hole in the ground. “These... they are yours. We'll return for them in the weeks to come. May they remind your young heart of love, and happier times; may your mind be lightened as you wear them. Your Da would not have them bring upon you the weight of sorro…” The beaten mare’s voice cracked and she swallowed hard the rising bubble of sadness in her throat. Before working to cover Midas’ items with leaves and branches, Africa let her young daughter feed until the last trickle of her milk ran dry.

Hours later, she was pushing the tired trio north through Thistle Meadow - destined for the frozen tip of Helovia.