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Throughout the hustle and bustle of business in Dragons Throat, it seemed Africa had slipped through the kingdom’s midst mostly unnoticed. The dapple grey mare had milled about the oasis alone for perhaps a week now, though she was not counting, learning what she could by way of private exploration about the surrounding desert and beyond. She was never disheartened by the apparent lack of interest, Africa was young and forgiving, and she could only assume that her arrival was of trivial nature compared to the preparation of invincible soldiers (like Midas who had invited her to the Throat, and had already defended her against foe), and undoubtedly profound discussions between dignitaries. So far that was her understanding of life in a kingdom- she was yet to find a tutor and begin the schooling she so desperately craved, thus delaying all true understanding.
Africa was not from Helovia- she was a completely clean, unmarred slate, and the region in its entirety held her vivid imagination captivated. There were so many elements (some she knew of, some were still a marvellous mystery waiting to be unfurled) that she yearned to discover- magic perhaps holding the greatest fascination. Still, and despite the young mare’s very obvious enthusiasm to begin, she wore her patience like a dignified cloak, not wishing to disturb her brethren while all attention was pressed into other matters.
It was mid afternoon and a dusty dryness soured Africa’s tongue. She had not yet fully acclimatised to the unusual conditions of the Throat- the lifeless arid desert air suspended indefinitely throughout the vibrant, well sized oasis; then, and most frequently as evening rolled into the vicinity, blasting ocean gales spewing bitter salt wherever it reached. The mare’s skin was already dry and itchy from the harsh contrast of her environment, but she had found alleviation for this, travelling to the shift of lush grass to slippery red sand and rolling at length. She was learning quickly.
Africa’s hooves pressed gently against the softly yielding lawn as she followed a well worn trail towards the lake. It was one she travelled once, maybe twice daily because so far her thirst seemed unquenchable. It wasn’t a long distance from where she had been admiring decorating clusters of annuals (a strong love for nature, flowers and the like flowed through her veins), and as she approached from the north-east fringe of the Throat a collapsed body grasped her attention.
At first she was rather bewildered by the horse, which was very much living. It was jerking, kicking; even thrashing about where it lay. Africa paused mid-stride after moving to only a small distance away. Concern leaked through the confused young horse’s mind and she crept still closer breathing heavily through fluttering nostrils, hoping that perhaps if she were imprisoned in some terrible nightmare, Africa might be able to rescue her. “Fear not...” She whispered ignorantly, lowering her twitching muzzle, all the while observing the other horse cautiously through tender eyes. “You are safe!” She tried again a little louder, hoping intently to reassure the sleeping mare and dodging readily as the other whipped her head back.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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![[Image: 515b833f251f3]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/515b833f251f3)
