They tell me I'm too young to understand
They say I'm caught up in a dream
Flourishing without the sun’s nourishing stroke and away from the burning brush of winter’s first frost, the ethereal garden thrived in the depths of the earth; a world of lavish resource and beauty beyond belief, and by the very rim, where the shadows fell hardest, the one winged mare sheltered in brooding silence. Bitterness had seeped into the crevices of her sharp mind, despondence smothered her young, tender heart- and the instigator of all which had soured her being had flounced by barely hours ago, as though nothing had happened between them.

Her ears were pitched backwards resentfully, each nostril pinched tightly against the muggy, moist atmosphere feeding the room, and she could not clear from her mind that smug confidence which had heralded his arrogant appearance. Perhaps it was not so much anger that gripped her; she was upset with him, that he had blackmailed her so callously, sure; she was disappointed that he had turned so unexpectedly, after driving out the confession of love she had not for one second wished to give. Africa felt the searing sting of his rejection, the bite of that crazed anger which had glazed each of his words; and perhaps most terribly, the placid young mare was overwhelmed by flooding guilt for lying.

Silas perched wistfully upon the slope of his beloved’s silk-dressed spine silently, unable to help her as again grief and melancholy wrapped vicious fingers around her undeserving soul. He knew the quality of her mind; the kindly throb of her aching heart, and even though these days, her thoughts were filled with self loathing and regret, the star-speckled Zephyr could do little to severe the self annihilation. His small scaled talons gripped carefully the ridge of her back as he shuffled sidewards to slip up to her rump and he smoothed the cloak upon her gingerly when sharp hooks snagged its flimsy weaving.

With meticulous care the avian began to preen the top-tuft of her raven-black tail; rolling snagged thistles and well-mated burrs between the sensitive curl of his tongue where it worked between each shell of his raptor beak. He had woven feathers, gloriously long and exquisitely hued into the length of those tendrils, and stretching his neck to find them, Silas bathed them with the concern he might his own- certainly his beloved seemed not to worry about such grooming of late.

The touch of her bonded soothed the pained lines from a fraught dappled hide. Still she thought of Windwalker, the switch of his personality and crudeness to follow, though while the Zephyr worked she found his lingering effect pacified marginally. A few had gathered in the garden in the mean time, though Africa stood well clear of their foraging or mingling groups. They were mainly strangers, bodies who she was not willing to invest her trust in; spirits who she had learned to be savage and unpredictable. Even with the protection of her companion close at hand, she could not find the courage once engrained through her core. Perhaps there was some small slither of sociability pulsing through her veins; one which leaned far from those drugged with masculine vehemence.

A mare drifted closer than most; oblivious it seemed as Africa watched with baited, suspicious breath, to the fact that she was there; half hidden in the eerie shade of the cave’s forest. She was much smaller than most of the Helovian population; less threatening perhaps, and one of the dappled mare’s ears slipped closer as curiosity cracked the shell of bitter antipathy. The bay fed ravenously, like her stomach had been unsatisfied for days; and she inched closer and closer to the wall by which the one-winged Pegasus hesitated. Soon too, the vile sound of gluttony invaded the tranquillity which had more or less been, and a sharp snort rattled through the flare of velveteen nostrils. “Hungry?” the breath of her voice fell through the dank air and the lonely feathers concealed beneath her cloak prickled with cautiousness.