The sky was pale blue, laced intricately with frosty white and the sun shed a warm glow across the vast ancient forest coating Helovia’s western fringe. It was a pleasant autumn day, though deep beneath the withering canopy of russet-brown and scorched-orange, a thick musty shade gripped the loam and light only dropped in well filtered dapples. Down the long steep slope of a rock-wall gully whose surface was slick with mildew and thriving moss, a creek curled comfortably to fill a dimly-lit pool hidden by the spined emerald arms of rainforest ferns and the sleek crimson leaves of bromeliads, flourishing where the burning summer sun could not reach. The spot was seldom used, perhaps barely known by the travellers whose business kept them from exploring, delving into the innermost depths of the Threshold. Not Africa though. The dapple grey Pegasus found the temptation to discover far outweighed the necessity to meet and greet potential candidates for her beloved homeland.

She visited the secluded, secret pool often- the air was cold and refreshing, unlike the contrast of salt-licked gale which regularly buffeted dust and sand throughout the oasis. Her lips twitched with delight, dabbling playfully against the motionless surface; her perfect reflection as it knelt to brush her with its whiskered muzzle. She drank deeply and closed her eyes as though savouring the moment, blocking the gentle chirp of crickets and the nearby croak of a frog from her mind. The serenity was intoxicating; addictive.

The flutter of startled wings drew Africa’s face away from the water and pale, curious eyes searched the lush undergrowth lining this piece of the forest’s floor. She was surprised to notice another horse, yet just as relieved that the stranger’s shoulders were beautifully adorned with luxuriously feathered wings- glossy jet black interlaced with rich, blood-red. The dapple grey’s eyes narrowed admiringly and she plucked her fore-hooves from the nutrient rich mud with a thuck, thuck. Turning her body to point in the direction of the black mare, Africa tilted her face, noting with concern the strained look, almost fearful, gathering in furrows throughout her dished face. “Hello there...” she breathed carefully aloud, conscious not to shatter the small peaceful basin which her company had obviously found comfort within. “Are you alright friend?” She offered the word friend kindly, so that it might reassure the other that Africa posed no threat. It was the opposite in fact, her gentle soul reached for the black horse so that she might sooth the strain from her flinching body. She did not move though, she did not want to frighten.