The stallion withdrew the affectionate, earnest glance of his soft, whiskered muzzle; the hot, vehement breath dissolved into the cool stale air which had become their common atmosphere. Africa missed it’s lingering caress at once. Although her body ached for that comfort to be returned to her, her natural, physical desire to touch and be touched screaming wildly through her mind, she held back for fear of startling his consciousness with renewed hope and false pretence. Her own flaccid nostrils fluttered gently and despairingly at the situation which seemed to escalate by the second. Her tender gaze began to hollow with blinding guilt, cream encased pupils watching through pooling self-aversion as he tucked his chin away from the rejection she seemed so intent on wounding him with.

As the grim sound of his crestfallen voice spilt like acid across the cold, hard floor, Africa felt the hot swell of responsibility begin to gnaw at her integrity. She pitied him- and such crude compassion had rarely been rife in her shivering corpse before. It was an unpleasant sentiment, and as it began to overwhelm her common sense the young mare felt the stinging bite of surrender. Certainly the Oracle felt not the way Windwalker did- he spoke as though she was his life-force; like she held in her sweaty palm the violent throb of his heart. She didn’t want that responsibility; too many troubles still flanked her existence and preoccupied her thoughts; Africa could not promise to keep it from harm. Sinuhe had perished in her care... Perhaps the ghost-white mare’s bones still bleached beneath the alpine snow of the north.

"I love you..." she lied, and felt instantly the cold sharp blade of regret slip through her heart. The sound of his pleading; the torture of his pained voice; the panic that he could die if she did not feel the same was overpowering, and she could bear the weight of his manipulation no longer. “I love you..." Africa tried again, trying to feel that surge of passion and emotion that damn near crushed this stallion who had bore the pain of severing his own wings. Surely it was there, lurking beneath the distraction of those mental wounds that now lifted to terrorize her emotional credibility. The lie was no easier second time round, and blunt ivories fell heavily upon the culpability slicking her tongue. The one-winged mare’s expression had distorted to suit the untruth; it did not betray now the guiltiness or self-loathing gutting her.

Africa