It was late morning, and a mild breeze swept down from the heart of Helovia. Its breath was unseasonably warm, dry, and the sour taste of smoke infested the northern brim of desert. Africa lifted her face finding that she was soon unable to ignore the thick sickening smell any longer, a subtle scowl carving distaste into the naturally buoyant expression, which ordinarily did not fade.
The stark tomato-red of the Paintbrush flower beckoned for her attention to return, its bristly grey-green leaves quivering, though stiff against the pull of the tarnished gusts. The young mare lowered her twitching muzzle again in adoring surrender to brush her velvety black lips against the plants finger-like petals, but a dull ache throbbed against the pulse of blood through her brain. Upset, Africa jerked her head instinctually against the discomfort and her plush grey mane swirled to life as the breeze gathered playfully throughout its flailing mass. Impatiently, and perhaps in brazen defiance against the wilful lick of smoky air preventing the continuation and focus of her study, a snort burst through the defensive pinch of her nostrils.
Many times in the last few months Africa had traversed between Helovia’s rimming forest and her desert homeland, though each time she had cringed away from the burning ‘Heart’ of the country. With a finely tuned flight response, the young cowardly horse feared the strange tower of choking smoke, and likewise the unmistakable flickering flames which never dulled. She was not the sort to specifically step barefaced into the open arms of danger, young, naive and not overly confident in character- though a childlike irritation did stir in reaction to the foul interruption in the middle hours of this particular day.
Leaving the languid nature of her pottering, the mare burst into a quickening gallop fuelled wholly by curious frustration and a sudden, uncharacteristic determination to face this inconvenience head on. She headed north towards Helovia’s heart and while her large feathered wings were left ajar to each side of her heaving barrel, she chose not to fly on this occasion. The weather was mild, the day clear, and only a light sweat bothered the dusty-red sheen of Africa’s dapple grey coat.
As she passed between the slim streak of shade cast by the unfinished mass of sandstone rock wall, the familiar slide of warm sand beneath her beating hooves failed, and a cracked, dehydrated shell hardened under the churn of her graceful gait. The change jarred the unprepared swing of her joints, causing her recklessness to ease a little and for her thoughts to reconfigure only vaguely through the haze of impulse which had compelled her from the safety of the Throat. Long, straw-like grass rose in a deep see before her, swishing as the pull of rough burning winds swept violently through.
Ahead; plainly visible even above the easily head high grass, the ominous promise of fire sputtered red, orange and glowing yellow, peering deviously through the dense smog of bubbling charcoal-brown smoke. Africa’s ears flickered with hesitant concern, but her inexperienced eyes watched unblinking, enchanted perhaps by the alien spectacle now within her reach. Quietly and impetuously, the Pegasus continued closer, slipping blindly into the sway of obscuring sea and the growing fog of heat embraced her ignorant transgression upon the dead soil. The strange crackle of flame filled her mind.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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[O] [Finished] A learned fool is more a fool than an ignorant fool.
![[Image: afri_zps12e4f1bf.png]](http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/SapphireTitanium/afri_zps12e4f1bf.png)