Look down, the ground below is crumbling Look up, the stars are all exploding Africa was not obnoxiously ignorant like the many times she had travelled from the safety of her beloved desert home before. Though only one more year had been notched into that slim, dappled girth, a whole new perspective offered her a future tightly secured within her hot little grip. The foolish nature of her wanderings, and silly decisions which had turned such an sweet innocent life sour were locked safely into the chambers of her now, cleansed and renewed mind. That day, as the burning orb dipped from its throne in the clear blue-wash sky, Africa stepped beneath the welcome shadow of her fluttering mate. The young Zephyr grew restless she knew, and his maturing soul stirred with magic, quite beyond the understanding of such a simple girl. She had agreed that they would again cross the northern border into the extremities of the ‘Heart', but for now, while they were still settling into the mainstream life of the Throat again, no further should they venture. Calm and collected, Africa seemed to glide with grace; that which could only have been granted by many moons of travel over such sandy terrain. With one wing ajar, the breeze generated by her movement cooled the sweat across her rib-lined barrel beneath, and she skipped easily below the monstrous wall which secured their home. Silas flew far above, scaling the structure with little thought other than that which ignited new curiosities in his core. It had begun while he and Africa had dwelt in the depths of their hidden cave. Softly at first and easy to disregard, the burning grew and Silas began to experiment with eagerly spread wings- flapping at varying intensities, as though compelled by some unnatural desire. To both his own, and Africa's astonishment, the time around them seemed to waver uncertainly and the more he practiced this art of beating wings, the more obvious it became that he was directly influencing the rush of time. A sharp cry peeled through the air above as the sand below began to harden into the sun-parched break where the desert ceased and slight moisture nourished hardy flora, and drought tolerant grasses. Africa glanced upwards, and noticed that Silas had paused and was fluttering on the spot, shining black eyes focused on perhaps the lava pit in the distance. She could not see such from her quite primitive position, but she knew it was there. "What do you see? she sang out softly, curious as she too drew to a gentle stop, eyes switching between her friend and that which held his attention captive. Of course the Zephyr did not answer her; their understanding of one another was solely the passion which thundered in their united hearts. Never the less, a smile lingered about her bristly black lips and she followed his lead forward again- out of the dry, knee length grass and out across the red rock like, earth. She had been here on many occasions and knew it to be a quiet, reflective place. Seldom did she find company by the burning lake, and that was the reason they had come here- privacy for Silas to practice. Ahead the flickering movement of another horse; apparently black or a very dark shade of brown, she thought, from where she now stood at the cusp of the region, snagged her gentle amber gaze. Naturally, she lifted her pale grey face into the thick, humid air, but to no avail. No summer breeze licked the wet mats of mottled hair from her saturated coat, and thus no scent did drift forward to greet her. Instead, Africa called out to the stranger- a peaceable notice of her presence and notwithstanding Silas' plight, an invitation for company.

credits

Noises of welcome sounded out from somewhere behind him, the youth abandoning his gemstone discovery to peer over his shoulder towards the source. Unvoluntarily, his muscles tightened as he caught the sillouette that had called out to him, the dark shape of a wing rising from the frame of the horse, a smaller winged being hovering nearby the shape. The windless day drew a frown of displeasure to his lips, muzzle working away at the particles of air that met their open and eager breaths to no avail; the pair might as well be ghosts in this weather, from this perspective. Still, he was not over enthused to approach the bizarre pair, staring at their shadows with a rather grim expression painted upon his young face, a long silence stretching itself between his notice of her beckoning and the present.

Looking hard at the pegasus and what was surely a bonded creature of some sort, he decided that it was liably a female or a young male; the muscles along the slender and lean frame did not hint at masculinity, the jawline delicate and feminine, not robust as a man's should be, the absence of the high, heavy cheekbones he had seen on all aged stallions leading to his decision. He could defeat a female pegasus, or another male slightly younger than himself; he was only three, but the year of muscle that had built upon him since his second set of seasons showed great promise of substancial physical power, and already, testosterone had begun to reshape the youth of his face into a more wisdomed and adult look. The same changes had thickened his mane and tail, the waved locks longer and less easy to manage than they had been when he was still a boy; they knitted together in places where he couldn't be bothered to untangle the complex knots that had bred around whatever stick or bramble had found him.

He mourned his solitude as he took his first step towards her, bid forward by Mirage's foreboding words in the Threshold; of all things, he desired to be accepted by the Gods of this land. The deities his father had passed on to him, Nieque and the prince Aarde, would always remain the most prominent of his spiritual totems, but Dragomir was a smart boy. He knew that to be beloved by the powers of a land was to have power of your own, and he knew also, through the teachings of his parents, that the approval of a being so great to be called God meant a more fruitious life. His Gods were dead, for all he knew, lifeless as their lovingly crafted land, and their bones would serve him little in this kingdom of three-faced divines; they would serve him even less with the lady Mirage, and so he half heartedly attempted a task that would please both the great powers in his new life. Besides, she was not a unicorn; as far as he knew, the only ones to truly avoid wore horns.

As he approached, he noticed what could not be seen from his previous distance; she, for it was indeed a woman, wore only one wing. It was hard not to stare - his pale eyes widened at the sight, immediately drawing a figurative blush to the easily embarrassed male; diverting his gaze quickly to the bird thing that accompanied her. It was surely pretty, that was to be sure. Such a deep black that it glistened violet in the right light, shimmering with diamond dust, but it's talons made him uneasy, the shining curve of its beak an ill omen he wished no longer to gaze upon. An so, he looked to her eyes, smiling uncomfortably at himself. "Hello," he stated simply, his voice deep as mid-ocean waters and just as dark, a wandering ear slipping backwards as his teeth remet another with a silent clack. It was all he would say, feeling no great kinship towards the disfigured stranger; he didn't know what else to open with, really, even though his curiosities were numerous. Where was she from? The feathered woman smelled of sand and heat, the ever present must of wings. His brain wandered south, past the pit and towards the desert that sprawled outside of it's red, rocky girth. Surely there wasn't a herd located out there, in that inhospitable wasteland, and if there was - how did they survive?

And, most pressing - had she been born as she was now? Even if he craned his head, he couldn't see her shoulder where the other wing should be, and knowing from his current vantage this fact he didn't even attempt it, merely ruminated various theories within his head to explain the oddity of this already odd being. Perhaps it had been ripped off at her her birth, by parents who knew she would never be as great as her equine half disfigured as she was by the blight of feathered blood in her veins. It was possible, also, that something more heinous had occured - unicorns, he thought to himself, pondering away at just what this seemingly good natured mare had done to insult the venemous swordsmen, or if that had even been the case, half heartedly awaiting her reply.

@[Africa]

In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes In the night the stormy night away she'd fly Across the small distance, pale eyes were unable to properly discern the manner of his expression; the delight perhaps that long awaited company had found him at last- come to cure the bitter pangs of loneliness; or the sullen glower which wished her overly optimistic, enthusiastic vocal chords back the way they had come. Long charcoal-dusted ears leaned forward with interest; focused squarely upon the rippling image of his sunlit hide should any response be offered. There was nothing, no sign or signal of acknowledgement aside from the initial shift of his form after she had first called. Africa sighed impatiently, the blanket of summer’s bothersome warmth cutting her tolerance far short of its usual long-suffering nature. To her rear, long thick cords of matted, tangled tail flicked across pointed hocks, warding off the unavoidable swarm of flies which always accompanied the hottest months. Silas grew tired; his powerful wings wearing over the course of time which spilt between the two stagnant horses- the Pegasus, and the Equine. Like is elusive ancestors, the great mythical beings who travelled endlessly towards the horizon, the young Zephyr was not built to hover in place for extended periods; he had not the vivacity of a hunting, waiting hawk. He was a creature born to soar and glide without the strain of overlay exaggerated movement. While the stranger still stood motionlessly in the not too far away distance, Silas descended from his lofty position, sharp though careful talons reaching to grasp the curve of his beloved’s murky grey back. He settled quickly then; raven-black wings tucking loosely to each side, claws treadling gently to secure his post, and the avian clucked quietly as he did. The glare of the sun across his glossy black cloak concealed well the speckling of stars which were strewn across him. Finally the other turned and stepped from his business towards Africa and Silas. The dappled mare chuffed quietly, the almost inaudible sound a confusion of her relief and gladness. The Zephyr upon her back craned forward to see throw adept, raptor-like eyes, the stallion approaching at long last, and his beady black gaze narrowed critically to assess any flashes of personality beneath the rather complacent expression- it was his duty after all, to protect the frail-minded mare, even before she could defend herself. Silas watched intently the sudden gape of the stallion’s pale stare, it was difficult to miss; hints of the palest blue, perhaps spilt from the gates of heaven, buried against rich mahogany; and still further beneath the idle drape of loose, thick black forelock to the side of his face. A throaty rumble resonated through his slight frame and the Zephyr puffed his feathers standoffishly in response to that gaze transferring to himself. Pale cream coloured eyes received him cheerfully, their depths pooling with polite warmth and Africa dipped her pale young face to the sound of his unexpectedly deep, obscure voice. Its tune mellowed, sinking into the searing heat of the southern region and the gentle-hearted mare figured opportunistically that anything further would be unlikely. “I’m Africa.” She indulged him freely, her voice; its delicate chime a bright contrast to the drone of his own. A generous smile pulled her dry smoky-grey lips into a broad, overly hopeful smile. She had come across many during recent travels who were short of manners, social ability or common sense, and while the grey was cautious not to conclude him to be of that quality, she added encouragingly, “Who are you?” With patience renewed, Africa leaned gently left so that left hoof beneath her flinching hock could rest a short while. [I am SO sorry D:]

credits

Africa. It is a strange name, but no stranger than Mirage or Semira. Perhaps even his own name will sound odd to her, once it is out. The dragon child had assumed it was related to her grandmother’s kind – and she had been wrong. His name meant precious peace, and the irony of how that name conflicted with his soul will be amusing to him someday. Today he is hesitant and unlikely to dive that deeply into himself, not while confronted with a one winged mare. The questions still probe at his mind, but he keeps them contained as usual; if he carries on a conversation long enough, the answers might reveal themselves. Still, he is also hesitant to dive so quickly into a conversation with a mutilated pegasus. She asks him for his calling – it seems she is used to sorts such as himself. His frown deepens at her ability to find the one chink in his resolute armor to ignore those he doesn’t want to talk to. He can’t be so rude as to avoid a direct question. "Dragomir," he says, bobbing his head in a salutation of neutral meaning. It is not his grand bow for Mirage or the Glazier, but it is a greeting none the less. He has decided against the nagging voice in his head, telling him to ignore her and carry on with his day. "It’s interesting here, isn’t it? What with the great fire in the midst of all this red earth." It truly was interesting, at least to the inquisitive young man. The island of his youth had been quite similar all across it. There was beach, and there was jungle, and in the jungle were several small mountains. He had climbed each – and was quite proud of himself for that, until his mother had scolded him on the dangers of mountain climbing (he had been only nine months old, she had good reason) after he had returned home from reaching the top of the final peak. Israfel, his mother’s bronze bonded, then instructed all the wild dragons to ostracize the boy for two weeks. The haughty wyvern was always on his mother’s side – usually to Dragomir’s dismay. Looking at the mare before him, he wondered which of the points behind this memory she symbolized, what traits she had that had called it to mind. Was she the thrill of the final peak, or the danger of the treacherous fall? Dragomir

The heart of Helovia was perhaps more desolate, dry and ferocious than the desert realm she called home. She was used to sand-topped earth, shimmery beneath the sun’s bountiful rays and more often than not slippery to tread upon; unruly cactus clumps with needle-like armour, hiding within supple dull flesh bountiful water on which to survive; stray camels and ravenous vultures, scattering lizards and sunbathing snakes; and perhaps the most celebrated feature of Dragon’s Throat, the oasis which gave life to each and every creature surrounding. The lake therein was the lifeblood of the land, and the heart here, where she stood idly and hopeful before the blue-eyed, paint stallion, held no such luxury. Quietly she watched with long coal-rimmed ears tipped so dutifully forward to receive the answer she naturally expected. It seemed the nature of their conversation was not going to be one so fluid and comfortable like she intended, and the one-winged creature began to fidget discreetly- so that not even she was aware. Through recent months- actually since the moment her ever-thin desert proof coat had been subject to the harsh reality of life in a prison of snow and ice, Africa had been learning that the world was a much less cooperative, more unforgiving place than her simple mind could have fathomed. With the hardest lessons life could push upon her, came a swift and sour maturation- but for now, she was fresh-faced enough to continue optimistically. ‘Dragomir...’ he offered at last with no hint of a returning smile to convince her that he was of pleasant enough character. Her own grin began to fade into something more trivial; the basic air of formality and distance, but it dithered suddenly when he spoke further- continuing the conversation rather than shutting her down with gruff disinterest. "Yes, I visit often, (because few others do) "and my eyes never weary, not with the smoke and waves of drying heat; there is always beauty to behold. She answered quickly- startled to life, searching his bay brown face as curiosity began to leak through her core. Of course she had not always been so fortunate to stroll so close to be able to marvel at the phenomenon of the region- her kind were masters of the air; born to fly beyond all that lay across the crust of the earth, and only since her grounding had she truly appreciated the glory most Pegasus were so oblivious to. She snuffled thoughtfully, eyes pulling from Dragomir’s face to examine the rippling air above the pit behind him appropriately, and then towards the glimmer of stone to one side amidst the dry, packed clay. "Have you seen the stones also? It is like sheet glass shields them from thieving hooves!" Personally she had not tried to dig the gemstones out of their rust-red bed, but Africa had heard of many an instance where fetlocks had been jarred and strained as their covetous owner sought to unearth such treasure for their own. Africa

While he had entered the conversation unwilling to share words with her, he found that the one winged creature had a few traits that made him feel a mild friendliness towards her. For one, she seemed as socially inept as he did; the terse response with which she was initially given drew to her body the tiniest of tremors and shuffling, a similar bodily motion that he himself made when forced to the limits of his bounds. He supposed he couldn’t truly blame her for being so: any pegasus with one wing was bound to have some emotional issues, as one would expect a dragon that could not breath fire to be of a smaller soul than those who burned all they desired. He could not know that this was simply the woman, just as he was simply himself. The loss of her wing had not changed her into an anxious creature, rather relieved some of the troubles her own mind caused her, and if Dragomir knew that she had somehow overcome her distrust and dislike of self to become as strong as she was now, he might ask her for the secret to her comforts. He has no such option, merely stands uncomfortably trying to not be overly rude to this woman whom he firmly believes holds no purpose to him other than to distract him from his studies of the stones in the earth, watches the faint flickers of emotions that leak into her physical stature. Nodding to her first stream of words but finding a slight pleasantry in the vivacious lilt of the mare’s voice, he cannot find anything worth saying in reply to her. Thankfully for him, however, Africa seems to have noticed he sucks at carrying on a long term conversation with anything not equine, and her next stream of brightly toned words is formulated into a question. He couldn’t help but smile in reply. It had been what he had gone to investigate when the mare first called his attentions to her. "Indeed," he begins, voice deepened by the sparse dryness of the air in this place, suddenly realizing that he has grown thirsty along side the great fire and that sweat has begun to build in the crevices of his frame, "perhaps magic can break the seal that holds them." Stated quite ponderously, he turns his eyes down to a small scattering of the glimmering objects held beneath the surface of the glass between the horse and flightless pegasus. "Haven’t seen anything like it before, that’s for sure." He had seen obsidian, lacquered in thick layers from the eruptions of the myriad volcanoes of his birth land, and even some of the gemstones that winked at him from their safekeeping, but he had never seen glass cover such an expanse of earth or such a fire burning out of seemingly nothing. Always, when the peaks of the volcanoes had gone, there had been a clear source of the boiling rock that poured from them – his mother had explained to him that deep beneath the cool earth, a great oven baked the guts of the planet. Occasionally, the guts got a belly ache, and like dogs, would spew the excess fluids from deep within the heart of the mountains. Thankfully, none of his family had ever been harmed in one of these incidents, his father cunning and having found a proper set of deep and safe caves along the far edge of the island that held no active peaks (as far as they knew, anyway, as the dragons said they felt no tell tale rumbling within the bowels of the low lying ridges) that they hid out in when the black cloud covered the sky and fed the earth with the black flakes of its body. More mountains, he silently ponders, pale blue eyes returning to the one winged mare with a faint twinkle of wonder in their depths. Dragomir

Silas grew restless; the awkwardness of the exchange between the Equine and his beloved drew very little enthusiasm from the sleek, black Roc, and he began to fidget with mounting disinterest upon the withers of the mare. He had beckoned her from the guard of their home with the intention to sharpen his newly conceived skills- bending time as he wished; melding day into night and so far they had spent no time doing so. His discovering such a quality had been more or less accidental, though already it had proved to be a useful aid during one specific time Africa was in need. He could not understand the words being exchanged, nor could his mind yet distinguish snippets of the swirling thoughts from his beloved’s mind, so all in all he felt rather like the third wheel. Still young, the Roc craved the attention of his mate, and when that strayed like on this occasion, indignant possessiveness evolved. Cunningly, his raptor-like claws sank a little deeper than was necessary, into the taut canvas across her spine. The sensitive nerves layered like mesh beneath the stretch of skin the Roc stood upon, tingled and twinged in angry response to the unpleasant gesture- Africa was distracted enough however, to not notice immediately. When the stallion smiled responsively to her question, the spread of unmitigated relief through her uncertain mind lessened the weight of their unnervingly slow moving conversation; and easily it overwhelmed any pain too. Her face easily reflected the shift in his otherwise bland demeanour, though her long cupped ears still fluttered hesitantly above. Quietly she listened to all that his parched, deep voice offered. As he spoke, her kindly gaze fell again to view the gems. She thought quickly of Midas and his ability to shake the earth- he had done so once on the plateau field above the Foothills, bringing down a unicorn who sought to ravage herself. Wondering whether that magic could jiggle free the stones, Africa nodded and smiled loosely. "Earth magic…" she mused aloud, maw lowering to brush the slick of dust from those shining faces closest, though the thoughtful motion was quite in vain; the powder-clay irritated her nostrils and a sharp snort recoated them. "I haven’t either," the young mare stammered before sneezing again. With each heave of her slender body, Silas was jerked from comfort; wings forced apart to keep him from tumbling to the side. A bothered caw parted his clicking beak, and the avian began to clamber and hop along the ridge of Africa’s back until he was perched atop her withers. Wickedly, he began to part the oily strands of her long, mottled mane to pluck them individually- for increased effect. "Ouch, Silas…" The young mare gasped, rolling her shoulders indignantly. The Zephyr pulled another, grumbling, and another. "Please! Stop that." Africa’s neck swivelled to reach backwards a swift toss of her lovely face, and the bird was dislodged from his game. Briefly he fluttered in place aside from Dragomir, and cast a bitter glare down upon him. "Forgive us," she said ruefully, quiet pale eyes softening as they moved from her companion to find the stallion’s vivid-blue eyes. "I suppose we should continue on our way." In actual fact, she was hesitant to encourage the Zephyr to practice where another was active- she did not understand the full consequence of it yet; nor could she tell if it twisted the time around others as well. Africa

@[Dragomir], I asked to have our thread moved ^_^

Earth magic… verbally ruminated the one winged mare, a hark raised to her words and a brow lifting on his features as the magical power of his and his father’s God was mentioned on the heated, crackling air. Again, wonder crossed his mind if he would ever forfeit this infatuation with a God that was not present, if he could ever hear anything in mild relation to the Horse God and his great son and not feel the race of his heart trip against the nearby walls of his ribcage. It brought his shame bubbling back up to the surface of his persona, brought back to life the tenseness in his muscles that had faded during their conversation thus far. He cannot help but see a black mare where the grey stands, no pretty bird or dappling; she is dark light night, and she is bleeding and broken, dragging herself through the mud and the small, green flecks of fallen willow leaves… The Roc cannot read his thoughts, Dragomir knows this, but the reaction and timing of the beast as the painted boy’s mind swallows him in such black memories is suited only for those who could know what images raced past the equine’s mental screens. It is enough to save him from himself, at least, he thinks as he watches the bird fret at the mare. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the way this woman let her bonded treat her. Requiem and Adalwulf both would never have suffered so from their dragons; he couldn’t even recall a single time in which their arguments between one another (however few they were) had erupted into physical nonsense like what occurred here. Either this mare was the most submissive creature to ever wander the mundus, or Silas was just an utter asshole. Either way, a slender check was slipped under the list of traits that left the mutated, flightless pegasus without much affect on his understanding of the species, and the natural hierarchy between them all. Dragon keepers did not let their bonded treat them so. Surely, this meant that equines were stronger than the pegasi, at least in this case. When the bird’s cruel game is finally ended, he finds himself looking into a rather apologetic set of eyes as she gives into what the creature on her shoulders clearly wanted. Still, he manages a soft smile and a nod, not wanting to leave the end of this meeting as bitter and resentful as he had his last with a winged mare. Even if Africa is timid and weak, inferior even to her own companion animal, she has still been kind to him. He cannot refute that this is a worthy achievement for any. "No offense taken, miss," he says, feeling the odd syllable on his tongue as he calls her something that is not her name and is not cruel or belittling as the names his father had taught him for her kind. Not that he had known they were rude, anyway, at least not until he’d come here and learned that not all followed the ways of the old Gods anymore. He is slowly learning, as all children do, that his parents are not omnipotent, all powerful beings who always know the correct path to follow. "I wish you luck on your way home. Perhaps we’ll meet again someday," his head nods a formal farewell, a casual and easy dip of the muzzle towards his chest as his powerful haunches move him back towards home. Dragomir