There was no verbal enchantment she could weave to numb the ache of his mind- she knew that effortlessly; no bandage she could offer would patch back together the shards of his broken heart- but the Oracle could tread carefully among those pieces, and mind they did not shatter beyond repair. Despite his reluctance, she wanted to make it her duty to cradle so tenderly his vulnerability while the shell crumbled away to expose the raw truth beneath; she wanted to be there for one whom had been that pillar of strength and endless inspiration, no matter how scattered and reckless her behaviour had been. If he could not release the crippling weight of stress pent up in that skull upon the shoulder of a friend, Africa would offer him the ears of an impartial counsellor; her profession, in a very loose sense, or someone those she served as the Sun God’s representative could turn to and trust on a whim.

Regardless of the manner of any revelation, the innermost bounds of Midas would be respected honourably and kindly.

Again he drew from the earnest grip of her worried, creamy eyes and she allowed him the luxury of that space. He stood close enough still in the vast forest-like chamber and the familiar scent of him (without the fond residual dust of their home) flurried into her lungs with each passive inhale. Africa did not tether him, she had not the brute strength to force him to stay (she would never insist); but he did not flee from her concern either.

She had not the silken qualities of her dream-weaving mother’s delicately clever tongue, nor did she hold the capacity at such a young age to understand truly, the price of the loneliness Midas spoke of. The Sun God had however, considered Africa worthy enough for this herd to turn to, talk to and seek counsel from and although she had not felt during the first of their meetings a glowing sense of imperial satisfaction for that choice he had made, she was never discouraged- she trusted that her soul was, or would soon enough be, fitted to such obligation; such privilege. Her Lord’s ability to foresee the road ahead was enough encouragement to keep her focus. To comfort misery and share mental burden absolutely seemed more natural, as she lingered in the cave-mists with the painted stallion, than thrusting feeble attacks at him without any will. The gift of a true Oracle streamed through her veins though, and it seemed inevitable that she should be so drawn to her friend now, when all his walls were failing.

“I’m braver than loneliness.”

Africa had clung onto many memories in recent times, and for that reason her own heart still twinged constantly with bitterness and self-loathing. She knew only the form of loneliness which had been caused by those haunting recollections of a twisted, macabre past; those which had driven her into the solitude of late, where she preferred only the sullen company of herself, her dutiful bonded and the constancy of the silent fire. The worst part of holding so tightly to memories she felt, was not the pain, but the isolation caused by them. Memories needed to be shared; unloaded- philosophical advice from a weakling hypocrite. Even if his was not quite the same, that feeling of emptiness was more than debilitating. Receptive eyes followed the stray of his eerie gaze, lingering patiently when they could hold on no longer. She could not find a smile to dress the sincerity of her care and so the Oracle stood unpretentiously by him.

Africa