An airy giggle; a contented smile- Africa was the epitome of temperament trapped in blissful youth. Her eyes embraced him as he sauntered closer, smiling and warm as they reflected the sun’s steady glow. When he nodded she did also, kindly, and welcoming his decision broadly; so much so that she gathered the corners of the leaf at her feet and drew gracefully and graciously across the remainder of the closing distance between them. Pausing to listen with one knee still suspended, she delicately placed the parcel again as he spoke. "As long as no crimson will be shed," He said, perhaps questioning her motives and still locked in suspicion. "I will join." Africa chortled humbly and tossed the soft tendrils of light-grey forelock from her snowy completion. She was a gentle spirit, opposed to wrath generally, and the cruelty of war. But as he trusted to her his insecurity, Africa was reminded of the demonic threat of the northern territory- the Plague.

“I am no threat to you, or anyone else.” She confirmed softly, closing her eyes and drawing in a long breath in an attempt to cleanse her mind of such wretched thoughts. When they opened, a patient tranquillity had resumed in their pale, golden pools. He came then to her side, and Africa placed a gentle tap on his shoulder to comfort him and assure him of her dependability. Placing her hoof squarely for balance, she knelt to collect her fruits- one eye watching admiringly, as he stretched his unfurled wing mass into the subtle breeze. She lifted her face to smile, though it was hindered slightly as she gripped the gathered leaf between her teeth. "Dapper you are," the stallion told her, matching the softness of her own tone and his bashfulness touched her heart... "Must I say." Africa was as modest as she was simple, and she could not prevent the butterflies as they began to stir amongst the plant-matter filling her belly; such flattery was something she was not familiar with.

“I know the perfect place...” The young horse announced peaceably through the clench of her teeth. Without force or manipulation, she guided their direction to the south (subconsciously clear of the malicious threat looming in the north), into a much larger clearing then the one she had been occupying when she had first noticed the stallion. Within it, she halted and set the leaf down again, before shifting to face her company front on. “I’m Africa from Dragon’s Throat.” She introduced herself courteously, dipping her face in playful salutation and then bumping his muzzle with her velvety black nose. Afterwards, while she awaited his response, Africa pushed one of her two roots across the thin grass towards him; a gift of sorts, and a hearty meal it would be.