Word spread quickly- whispers on the wind; the murmur between species of smothering shadow stranger still, and more formidable than the curse of Endless Night. Africa was no fool these days. Long ago the cloak of recklessness and folly had been shed, vanished along with both the gift of flight, and innocence of youth. For her, it had been a hard road travelled and one whose horror and truth still haunted the grim isolation of sleep- rarely now did she let weary lids distance her from reality; never did she feel safe enough to rest completely.

Africa’s gait hastened as her lithe, elegant frame scurried along a forgotten path littered heavily with the autumn hues of wilted foliage burning bright; drying and dying beneath the dappled glow of the sun, orange and brown; red and gold. A foreboding pressure had settled through her core lately, fuelled by those brash rumours of wickedness and magic seeping through various regions across the country- she had learned that the tundra due north of the Threshold had fallen prey, and with fretful apprehension, the Oracle fled towards the security of her homeland.

She fell from the southernmost ridge of trees which marked the start of the meadow (or the beginning of the forest- which ever direction was taken), and stumbled clumsily down a minor hillock which spilt into the vast sea of billowy pale grass. Throughout the golden pasture pricked heads of shrivelled black and fading purple danced wildly, bending with each callous stroke of the mid-Orangemoon wind as it collected through the open space. Trees too, scattered and sparse yielded lazily, enjoying the last of the season’s warmth before the bitter promise of terrible winter descended upon them.

The goat-track followed, placed her quite a bit further east than she was used to; the river coursed nearby, its steady roar and bulging banks betraying perhaps sign that snows had fallen early through the northern ranges. For some time she followed its path towards the ocean, slipping and sliding along the swollen banks because it offered some small safety should she need to flee through its unruly midst and into not-too familiar the forest beyond. Africa was a vulnerable creature- tortured by the shackles of gravity, and bitter, wounding memories; she held little confidence these days, and shied from the company of others (when once she was brimming with enthusiasm and social-flare). Life had become so perverted and unpredictable that her faith had been skewed- perhaps beyond repair.

Clattering hooves fought the slide of loose rock as she hesitated suddenly, the sight of two horses mingling not far downstream engulfing her mind with trepidation. She could not have been missed; the unruffled carefulness of her manner had been lost while she went, and offered to each a masking smile when finally she did pull alongside- barely leaving the comfort of thrashing water’s side. "Hello." She murmured gingerly, assessing each equine thoroughly. Silas fluttered down from his station above, and set himself cautiously to watch atop the curve of her muscular, silk sheathed rump.

Africa