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“Rain, rain, I love you
Most folk don’t, but I really do!”
It was a well worn goat track that she was following; etched deeply in sections along the way to harbour the relentless rain in shining, rippling pools. These she took juvenile pleasure stamping through, giggling with shrill, unbridled delight as the waterlogged mud splattered in terracotta-hued protest up her lean swinging legs. The day had been decidedly gloomy and wet, though Africa- who naturally found pleasure in the most mundane of occasions, had braved the cold, unpleasant weather to play. Determinedly the thick, dark-grey rug prevented the sunlight’s escape- and she pretended as she danced between puddles, that the rain falling in wind-driven sheets around her was the resulting spill of a supremacy battle between the two- it was not blood though, the young peaceable grey had assured herself a number of times.
“Sun, sun- rain won’t let you through
It will heal the earth and help plants grow new!”
“It really is win, win for me you know.” Africa reassured, pausing to glance upwards and grin warmly. As a keen botanist, she could see the value in both important elements. “Although... She continued, lowering her voice to a whisper and suddenly screwing her nose up, “Between you and I, I rather prefer to soak in warmth than wet.” The young horse leapt away from the steamy fog which lingered lacing her words, her uttered secret, laughing with shameless amusement as she cantered a small way further, before parting from the effortless guidance of the winding path. Between care-free bucks she stumbled up the waterlogged hillock, her sharp hooves leaving cruel indents to betray her hasty passing.
Africa was travelling south of the long swaying grasses of the thistle strewn meadow, but east enough to be well clear of the ferociously burning, perpetually smoky heart of the land. She was confident enough there, for the terrain unfolding before her was reasonably familiar- though darkened by the persistent rainfall, and saturated through. Many months ago she had ventured through this vicinity during her earliest time in Helovia; she had met a young (rather aloof) unicorn called Vy. So much had changed since then, both her maturing experiences and slow and a very gradual advancement out of blissful childhood. Even those early memories were rarely revisited; they were mere notches in her girth of knowledge and understanding now.
She neared the stream, and with widening eyes was disheartened and surprised to find its gentle trickle had become a roaring rapid, churning and frothy as it pummelled an ever expanding course down towards the south. “Goodness!” She exclaimed presently, undeterred by her presumed solitude. “How ever am I supposed to cross you?” Africa’s face lowered, her nostrils flaring to issue the angry stream a frustrated snort. Soaked to the bone, and at the mercy of the bitter bite of the late Orangemoon wind, the dapple grey felt a wicked shiver crawl beneath her skin, and all the way up the length of her flinching spine. She murmured something beneath her breath to reiterate the inconvenience but turned away as she did, grimly surrendering to the resolute conclusion of her aimless quest.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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![[Image: 515b833f251f3]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/515b833f251f3)
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[O] It's Raining, It's Pouring [Shajake]
