The situation was a blur spinning uncontrollably around Africa. Her heart drummed to a violent beat (a sensation beyond her level of understanding), and the pulse of blood through her frightened body echoed deafeningly within her flattened ears. Adding to the weight of dread bruising her green soul, the stallion seemed to feed off her involuntary reaction, the tireless dark glow of his penetrating eyes following her always, laughing callously at her misery. It was certain that the easily influenced Africa would not quickly forget this, her first encounter with a horned horse.

To her, the attack seemed to play out in sickening slow motion. She failed to see the stallion lifting his face as she pivoted away, his teeth fastening around the longest (and possibly most important) of her black flight feathers. Africa jolted to a standstill at the unexpected sting of her tightly rooted feather being pulled, and it snapped halfway down the shaft. Copious amounts of adrenaline were pumping through the young mare’s body and a light tingle lingered briefly where the remaining part clashed against the next, dishevelled.

Africa had executed only half the escape she had intended, and wavering slightly on the spot where she had come to, the mare watched the mean horse become sidetracked; a second stallion swept to her side. She had no time, perhaps no energy left, to react. The words though; his meditative voice, they nursed Africa’s disquiet and softened the serrated edges of her crippling fear. At first she couldn’t find his face through the blending chaos of events in her mind, but given the chance to breathe and renew her focus, the grey mare was comforted to find Midas (the first Helovian she had ever met, and brethren also now), positioning himself between her, and the horned stallion.

No smile rose upon her quivering lips in response, but her tears did cease, and their fresh warmth quickly faded upon her stained cheeks as the bitter air festered around the three horses. The build up of lactic acid in her muscles and sudden emotional fatigue prevented Africa from moving herself to safety for now- her long lean legs shuddered as they supported her, ever enduring, but she did not return to face the monster. She did not wish to see those lusting eyes ever again; she could still feel them boring against her flinching hide. A pitiful sob slipped between her clenched teeth as Midas addressed her aggressor. She could not avoid feeling a little surprised by his confidence (considering the situation), and the fluidity of his directive towards the other. She blushed, choking on another sob but containing it so that she might not look quite as ridiculous as she all of a sudden felt- now that Midas was here of course.