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