Lips stained with dark smoky-grey stiffened at the sudden slip of his voice, deep and low. She nodded at its first mention, faithful eyes searching the illegible expression which had tightened the fine lines chiselling his dark face. Certainly the bottomless pits of gold upon it offered little insight into the churn of cogs and wheels in his mind- they were broader, perhaps brighter too after her rather untimely and morbid distraction from his own sorrow. Africa shifted; not awkwardly, not uncomfortably, and the cloudy feathers lining the rogue wing to her right prickled as an itch provoked by empty shafts and missing quills, began to irritate.

The words to follow instilled a mild level of reassurance- not that such was the responsibility of the black and white stallion, she knew.

Africa had not for one second found reason to blame Midas for the foul torture which had befallen her in the Basin (neither could she fault Sinuhe, although it was that snowy Unicorn’s foolishness which had led them both astray to begin with). Since the day he had fought to secure her safety and allow her the chance to flee in cowardly fashion, a podium had been set beneath him and always from then on, the feeble dappled fool had gazed with starry-eyes up at him. His bravery and selflessness had been something her young mind aspired to replicate, and perhaps part of that yearning had been cured- she thought little of herself, investing much time and emotion into the care of her kin instead.

Long coal tipped ears leaned thoughtfully towards him, her focus unwavering now; untouched since all that had been held so tightly and detrimentally against the throb of her breast now hung suspended like the stench of rot in a rainforest, in the air around them. There were no more secrets; no flailing guilt he did not know. She was grateful for the release he had allowed her, the sheer weight of her troubled past seemed now to be barely the faint breath of memories playing through her imagination; illusions that no longer held substance enough to warp and mar the kindness of her soul. Still, no smile felt comfortable and her ashen features remained without the glint of happiness once saturating. His crest sank, curling away his skull so that she could wallow beneath the light of his eerie eyes no longer, and the soft whiskers upon her twitching nose reached across instinctively to follow the withdrawal.

“I don’t miss it…” she fibbed gingerly, perceiving brazenly a shift in his mood and guessing innocently that the story of her wing’s parting had affected him, just as it seemed to bruise any other Pegasus who laid their eyes upon her naked shoulder. “… not anymore. Only the memory of those horrible days in the Basin was the burden I needed to vent- and the death of our herd-sister. Both are treasons I could no longer live with as a sister of the desert.” Worried eyes sought desperately to reconnect, the fatigue from rollercoaster emotions beginning to fray through the flinch of nerves beneath the dappled coat clothing her.

There was a period of silence then through which Silas reconnected his thoughts to sooth the growth of concern in the mind of his beloved. Like her, he knew not of words passing between the stallion and the Pheonix still perched amid the canopy of iridescent foliage; little attention had been spared while Africa’s grieving heart had called for his warmth. The young Zephyr clucked tenderly where he rested upon her and combed the slight parting of his sharp, hooked break through her thin, smooth coat beneath.

Fina launched from the branch and away out of the room in a soundless streak of light, and both Africa and her companion found their eyes darting along behind; drawn by the brilliance of that which had been lost when they had descended into these tunnels. The soft creamy eyes of the mare only returned when all trace of the beautiful creature had been lost, and they found between a series of surprised blinks, that delicate channels of gold were snaking through the light underworld turf towards those cast-off feathers which she had thought nothing, ever, about. The hue of Midas’ magic was a wonderful contrast to the bleak climate beneath the earth (having spent her Helovian life bathing in the glorious of the God of the Sun and his land, the frail glow in the room holding them was modest), and her curious eyes followed eagerly.

Like a phenomenon so intricate and exquisite that she could only equal to the blending colours of a gecko’s thin skin between changing backgrounds, her bland feathers were touched. Each in turn slithered beneath a sheath of vivid, shining gold- more beautiful than even a sun-drenched palomino, and Africa’s breath was snared even before the ascent into her clenched mouth.

They were lifted towards her, not by arms crafted of the sand from their cherished desert, but on fine strings of gold- and Africa blushed beneath the mask of her pale, slim hair and the forelock draped loosely above. His generosity seemed always to rise above any situation, and she respected him so terribly for it. She wondered as she admired the floating gilt-feathers if anyone had ever been so giving in return. Silently the grey resolved to pay back all these kindnesses bestowed, though the return of his intelligent words drew her out of that thought. “Please.” She answered humbly, noting wordlessly a sudden realisation that the wing still blessed upon her was a gift more than she had understood. For a moment the booming tone of the Sun God’s voice returned to cloud her mind- ‘Once you are ready to exact vengeance Oracle, and return to the skies, seek me out.’

Africa was nodding; both grateful for her friend’s gentle reasoning, and because now she truly realised the value of that conversation with her Lord when still they were contented in the Throat. He had not wanted her to hackle and feign courage, like she had done so ignorantly. Her long neck began to lower, the flatness of her cheek to turn so that the strings of Midas’ creation might be accommodated better; so that his metaphor (that was certainly how it was received) might hang with the other feathers given to her more heavily and be a constant reminder of the wisdom imparted this day.

Africa