The first squall of Orangemoon plumed progressively above; billowing grey and stark bursting white, mushroomed far into the heavens, meshing across the vast blue arc to suffocate viciously the burning sunshine which floundered now with wilting intensity. A wild wind swept sheets of bitter surf from the churn and froth of southern ocean waves, its gust relentless and swelling as the humidity of the day clung defiantly on through the straining afternoon. Thunder rumbled restlessly through the atmosphere, groaning and grumbling as the burden of impending rain grew too heavy to bare and far in the distance; well off the sandy shoreline-threshold of the desert, the first hints of lightning ricocheted violet through the looming black mass of storm.

Africa stood there, hooves lost beneath the surging sea current, with brooding pale eyes riding the brutal toss of waves beyond. She had not seen weather like this, the violence of seasonal shifts and the flooding torrents of rain undoubtedly to come for a long, long time, and even though the oppressing weight of the day still drew channels of salty sweat across her dappled coat, the promise of rain filled her with unbridled hope.

She wore around her shoulders a sodden mass of silken cloak- grey green in hue, with a slippery shimmery texture (although this was quite missing while the mare was so soaked). It clung heavily to the curves and fine lines forming her graceful physique today, though the pummelling wind rattled its loose edges aggressively where they draped right down to her knees. Around her neck too, buried beneath willowy, thick veils of mane and bunched fabric; tucked snuggly between the pulse of her fleshy breast and the sturdy leathery straps holding the robe, two amulets were hanging upon delicate golden chains. They were both treasures and protection, glinting as the last of the choking sunlight was relayed from the angry waters below.

The fury as it built around and above her was both as terrifying as it was breathtaking, and frequently Africa found that her breath had been held; her concentration skewed, her wondering eyes entranced. Even when the large balls of water began to plunge from the sky, she could not draw herself from the scene unfolding- it was the shrill, impatient beckon of her mate, her life and her soul, who pulled her awake at long last, and together they fled the onslaught of giant droplets an a windswept flurry of flung sand and unruly flailing hair.

Hooves danced to playfully the frightening melody of the rains pounding patter, of the roaring thunder overhead and the vibrant crackling light as it peeled in warning through the dense blackening cloud cover there. Though heritage promised haste and agility, to cross through slippery dunes, her imagination wandered tirelessly to the presentation she had witnessed by the God of the Earth a month before; perched upon the cliffs to the east, conducting the symphony of nature- his element and his world. She wondered as they went, long lean legs spilling forward, faster and faster ahead of the cascade to come, if this were a presentation of their Lord, the beautiful and powerful architect of their land; whether she should rise beneath his show and celebrate the majesty of his power instead of fleeing its ferocity to hide.

Silas drove her on and the angry flicker of rain bothered fire danced too far ahead- they were not going to make it home before the green curdling clouds unleashed their gush of ice.

In unison they turned instead left, powerful wing thrusts and undulating legs carrying the thrilled, adrenaline fuelled bodies towards a lone tree- large, and growing boldly in defiance of unrealistic odds. It would do, and the mare and her bonded fell beneath its open arms gratefully. Silas fluttered to find roost among the lower of its old woody limbs and Africa found herself face to face with another seeking shelter, perhaps; a young horned creature who she had not before met.

A quiet smile, open and apologetic, spilt through her expression and the one-winged mare said, “Please don’t mind our intrusion, we were not going to make it home. I’m Africa, and this is Silas.” She chuckled light-heartedly, glancing upwards to her bonded who was cleansing beads of water from his star-speckled, black tail, one long elaborate feather after the other. Outside, the downpour grew heavier and about her feet arrived cubes of white ice whose weight would be supported by the Gods no longer.

Through the curtain of hail Africa could see the shadow presence of the ocean, and took for herself a vast, contemplative breath.