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So, more or less, Africa had been left to her own devices- though cunningly she had been grounded by the bay-brown unicorn mare, her glorious wings broken; ruined. As dawn’s first light began to seep between the eastern most peaks of the towering, encompassing mountain range, the truth of her predicament became a stark, grisly reality. Alone, though not for a second trusting she had been forgotten, the young Pegasus caught the first glimpse of her prison, the Basin. A mere ditch was her first hateful impression, as soft shafts of sunlight stretched down to illuminate the glistening lake nestled deep in the hidden valley. Africa would never have known its whereabouts had Sinuhe not manipulated her to follow, tempted by arrogant stupidity; none of the night’s horror would have come to pass.
Scorn and anger tarnished her gentle heart, though just as potent was that crushing sense of loss and betrayal; the graveness of her felony, plaguing her soul and mind, filling her with overwhelming guilt. Her purity, that childlike innocence, was no longer. For the rest of her life- whatever that may hold now, Africa would wear two scars- the first grazing her left shoulder; the second, the result of a brutal lance through her croup; these would mark occasion for ever more, as the day Africa was forced into bitter maturity by walking death himself. For now though, both remained raw, throbbing and irritated, forced to weep and bleed with every painful movement made. Her bright grey dapples were tinged brown and red where blood had dried and caked in the cold night air.
And finally, cruel and punishingly, the delicate bones which built each of her wing’s, her epicentre, were shattered. Both now were limp and helplessly dragging through the churned up muddy rime.
She shuffled very slowly, her steps hampered and bruised; frail and humiliated, moving always down a well worn track- in the opposite direction to where the narrow rock path laid the primal exit from this primitive hell. Her caramel eyes, sunken and hopeless, focused exclusively on the looming lake, careful to spare no sideward glance in case another of these violent devils should notice and find sick merit in crushing her destroyed spirit further. She hated them, and tears began to leak as clear condemnation and shame down her filthy, sodden cheeks.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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