Veiled in shining silk, the quiet grey slipped between the old wood of the Threshold forest, quite nearer to the eastern borderline then normally she might. The air embracing her slow, deliberate passage was warm and humid though dawn had barely parted the dim shadow of night; drawing across the dappled canvas, well hidden beneath her light-weight cloak, was a heavy, steamy sweat. Pale yellow eyes roved tirelessly through the vegetation surrounding; and so too did her second pair, the young Zephyr's, ever watchful as his beloved travelled. There was vulnerability in disability, and weakness surrounding one whose soul held no vehement vibe; of this both were grimly aware. The one-winged Pegasus had by now mastered the art of subtlety, stepping only upon the cushioning tufts that would leave no hint of her presence and moving aside from any trail; any worn path which might be lure the lazy predator.

It was not often that she was so cautious in her questing, but with recent events; unprovoked attacks and such right in this very wilderness still fresh in her mind, Africa chose to stay highly attuned to the world around. Short, shallow breaths tested the air suddenly and her face was lifted in the same moment so that soundlessly fluttering nostrils might be granted better access. Few travelled so deeply into the Threshold in this direction- the tracks and signs of equines passing through into the east were few and far between, so when the thick lingering hue of a stallion grew denser than the rest, the young mare paused to consider it- thoroughly.

It failed to rouse dancing, indissoluble memories- was not owned by someone who she was able to readily place upon a familiar face. Instead, she found her face lowering intently; dabbling lips dissecting the thick dead mat of pine and leaves for the more recent track of this stranger. Africa searched at length, long and hard, but lifted again with wide narrowing eyes, empty handed. Curiously she turned in place, swinging her forequarters gracefully, swiftly so that the long tresses of mane across her sweaty neck flapped wildly. Sliding forwards then slowly, she stepped into the open corridor that lead in a loose, south westerly direction- inevitably funnelling those unsuspecting travellers into the centre of the Threshold; where, they may or may not be granted the choice to choose their fate.

She did not linger in the raw openness path, instead crossing in only two surefooted strides before sinking into the shabby undergrowth of the opposite side. There the stranger's scent grew, and she began to hunt for him again.

It was Silas who found the rummy-nosed stallion first, his raptor-eyes and immaculate memory recalling easily the role he had placed by the cliffs under World's Edge; he had warded off the ravenous stallion who seemed intent on destroying the last of Africa's hope; driving her to death. A low rumble peeled through the heavy, still air and his raven-black form swept from its perch upon the slippery silk cloak sheathing his beloved's back. Effortlessly the avian slipped between branches, guiding the grey mare to her goal; alighting in the naked bough of a very old oak- and he glanced down on the Unicorn through one, shining black eye.

Africa followed the zephyr quickly and obligingly, never unappreciative of his ability and aide. Before long, she was slowing beneath the opposite reach of the old trees canopy (that which now housed her bonded), peering across at the recognizable face of one she knew from long, long ago- a different lifetime she thought broodingly. "You're Voodoo…" She whispered carelessly, holding the breath which followed as though its rush might accidentally scatter the illusion before her. "I know you. I'm Africa- do you remember?" She wanted to fold into him, to bury herself in the fond memories which they shared, but as her pale honey eyes travelled about his ridged exterior, she began to question herself. He no longer presented as the rash colt in her past; his face creased with maturity, the expression upon it cold and distant. A bubble caught in the base of her throat, a question- a flood of questions. "Are you alright? Why are you in the Threshold?" It was painfully obvious that he was not searching like she, his posture was stiff, perhaps having been in the same spot for many hours- and a recruiter did not often break for long periods.

Africa broke through the shackles of her reservation and stepped close in front of him, stretching her long muscular neck forward as far as she could to brush her nose by his; where it was, tucked aloofly against his dark breast.