They tell me I'm too young to understand
They say I'm caught up in a dream
Inside, Gaucho was waiting with a number of those who had flown- many who filled the ranks of the Throat’s army. A sense of security flushed through her body as she and Wind passed by them to find a place to stand; to loiter amid the plume of foggy confusion descending upon them all. Many, many faces filed in, even after the small troop who had travelled by Midas had settled.

Another who she had not met came down with Rasta, and to each was offered a warm (worried, naturally), thoughtful smile. “Rasta welcome; and to you friend." She offered with the slim hope it might ease a little uncertainty. Again she looked to the stallion who had delivered the near white palomino crafter after he had spoken. “I am Africa, we have been gathered together here by the will of our leaders- at the warning of the glorious Sun God." Quietly she offered her soft whiskered nose towards her blind (Africa knew not that she had been cured and instead been muted) herd-sister, should she find any comfort in a friendly exchange of breath.

With soft-gold eyes flung apart, the Oracle saw the familiar shadowy figure of Silk descend into the crowd and immediately she began towards him, relief flooding her tired mind. There was a smaller form beside him, a Unicorn filly, and as she grew nearer she recognized Cypress with a growing smile. “Silk! Cypress!" She called through the hum of stress and boiling anxiety sweltering around them, but she stopped all too suddenly when the booming voice of Gaucho hushed them all. Confused foreboding rose like a grim wall and Africa could force herself no closer as the words of the Sultan sank quickly into the beat of her breaking heart. “No..." She sighed, devastation blurring her eyes as they willed the filly urgently from her keeper. “Cypress dear, come to my side." So pleased was she to welcome the girl into their family, but she could not rise beyond the hurt and the despair as she turned hurriedly from the infected stallion.

Her legs each seemed burdened by the weight of pure lead as she fled Silk’s proximity- hopefully with Cypress gelled to her flank. The Oracle weaved back towards Wind who still lingered where she had left, and the frantic call of Silk’s ailing voice filled her wavering ears. She wanted to return that pledge, to bandage his sick with her love and care- but it was too late, she thought, and lowered her face still further from his view. It was true that she felt alike to his now public emotion, and it hurt all the more because she knew that they could never possibly meet again. The fire which simmered along the crest of the mare, and dazzled her otherwise bland tresses began to fade as her optimism fell flat upon the tiled floor.

Bravely she returned to Wind, and wrestled a smile to sit upon her lips. “Wind, this is Cypress a dear friend." Delicate nostrils lowered to flutter about the filly’s small cupped ears, and she continued. “Cypress, meet Windwalker. May he always be a friend to you here in our family." The superficial pain of Silk’s loss began to lighten with the gift of distraction (of course the pieces of her shattered heart were strewn along her path from the doorway), and she leaned her only wing against the raven stallion as Silas glided down croaking resentfully for that wretched stallion he found so detestable; having chased him away with the orange soldier, Hector. The zephyr nestled, upset by her grief against the wilt of her neck where it sank into her pointed withers.