The mid-Tallsun day seemed to be just like any other, warm- not quite overbearingly so in the opinion of one whose home was no other than a desert; clear and uncomfortably humid. Africa had found for herself and for Silas, a large white oak beneath which they could both find relative respite from the wrath of the peak of the day. Together they lounged accordingly, the young dappled mare pressed indolently up against the cool, rough bark of the old tree; wingless shoulder grinding against it occasionally when an itch roused the need. And her Zephyr companion, whose remarkable feathers glowed between midnight-black and twilight purple as he shifted between shafts of penetrating light which the canopy could not block out, dozed in the curled arms of their cover.

Their morning had been spent filling their stomachs; grazing on the tart grasses of the woody Threshold, plucking wonderfully ripe berries from scattered, scarce bushes along their aimless path and foraging in general, after a long journey north through the night.

All about them the familiar warble of birdlife filled the atmosphere, the sudden gush of a rare breeze from the snow-capped northern ranges filling their hearts with merry contentment. The breath restored energy and hope, reminding all in its path that this ravenous heat of summer would not hang across their wearied shoulders forever.
So too did it embrace Africa, gathering wildly beneath the long tangled clumps of her damp mane, pulling it cheekily from its purchase across the thick lathery sweat across her neck, and spinning it playfully between unseen fingers. It slipped readily beneath the welcoming shift of her wing, ruffling feathers as it cooled clammy warmth beneath.
Silas lifted his heavy eyelids (daytime was not the most wakeful period of a nocturnal creature’s life), and peered curiously as he too was freshened by the unpredictable sweep of wind, fluffing his sleek feathers and stretching the restlessness from each long, extravagant wing.

With the forest settling around them once again- recovering in a sense from that shocking burst which had restored them, Africa rocked her weight from the white oak tree and with long, storm-grey ears perfectly erect glanced towards her Bonded with narrowing eyes. “Did you hear that?” She asked, her soft voice barely a whisper shadowed by the onslaught of nature’s rising chorus. Silas did not understand the mare’s query, but the sound had not passed him by unnoticed either. Alert and listening intently, the avian neck was stretched, the glossy cloak about it flattened. Africa peered cautiously around them, all too aware that another was nearby- their scent too, as the breeze had ceased, was slick upon the air.

“Hello?” Africa called suddenly, though the tone of the greeting was neither apprehensive or upset. Perhaps they had seen her already, she could not tell, the one who walked close by was well concealed by the rugged, unkempt undergrowth.

The voice which sailed through the twisting, woody forest was refreshingly civil; a little bland and quite devoid of the emotion which ordinarily filled Africa’s own sweet, mellow tone, but without that hostility that so often accompanied travellers to this Threshold. A long heavy breath expelled from the dapple grey mare’s lungs, mild relief bursting through flaccid, velvet nostrils which rattled against the rush of old air. The stranger materialised through the shaggy, sparse undergrowth which barely clung to life, nestled awkwardly amongst the twisted roots of enormous, thirsty redwoods. She did not quite match the image which Africa’s playful mind had initially envisaged.

The mare was similar in height; although the rim of interlocking feathers which budded along the ridge of the dapple grey’s shoulders all the way upwards to dress her withers as though in delicate frills, gave her a slightly larger profile. Shrewd amber eyes danced forward to meet luminous yellowy-green pools. Her colouring was dark bay brown; tinged red mane (aglow as it bounced beneath the sun’s vibrancy) and a tail which matched; and interestingly, it appeared as though the tips of her pricked ears had been dipped in snow stain- unusual but quite attractive. From the angle which the other horse had come, any further markings were not quite so noticeable.

The seal bay Equine introduced herself quickly, which Africa appreciated immensely. There had been so many occasions lately where pulling names and intensions was as complicated as finding teeth in a Zephyr’s mouth; patient as she was, pandering to the weak, distrustful and frail minded did grow incredibly tiresome.
Africa could not help the attraction of her eyes, to the silvery blade which dangled (she thought precariously), across Adira’s shoulder. It seemed to her, to be a flattened horn- perhaps torn from the forehead of those who had robbed her of flight. Without being a racist individual, she still held a small amount of contempt for those monsters of the north- they were a race of their own in her sensitive, gentle mind; blood thirsty creatures with no moral code or integrity to cloak their macabre world.

“I am Africa, and this is Silas.” The humble mare offered cheerfully in return, absorbing and reflecting easily the shift of friendliness, as it swept through Adira’s expression. “It is nice to meet you.” Africa added quickly, through an expanding smile, and she meant it sincerely. The little Zephyr, still perched above them, watched in silence; beady black eyes narrow as they roved between the meeting mares. “I have come from Dragon’s Throat in the south, searching for any travellers looking for a home and a family.”

Tagged: @[Adira]