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From the crevice of the earth she ascended once again; weary and weak, hungry and fatigued, but Silas had insisted she move from that pit of despair. Like a nagging conscience he had pressured her reluctance to oblige relentlessly, drawing her from room to room; closer and closer to the stale old world which still did actually exist beyond the cave. The Zephyr had parted Africa’s side seldom, but during those few occasions he had danced through the wild skies, and the sheer ecstasy which their birthright entailed- she had both wings to draw upon, but he could feel the ach of magic in her mind; bubbling in her heart like a volcanoes core of molten lava. There was something new, and he wanted her to find it.
The air was not clean, nor fresh like it had always been. The foul stench of wraith lingered gruesomely, even though the Roc had convinced her that none roamed nearby, and Africa’s stomach turned and twisted repulsed. “It is foul.”
She told him quietly, slim legs trembling; warily guiding her across the parched clay of the Heart and into the stark openness. Africa’s pale eyes were peeled, gaping apprehensively as they scoured the estranged wilderness surrounding. It seemed so bizarre that she and Silas had explored every exquisite detail of his landscape- yet now; she could no more recognize it than fly to the moon.
‘...Concentrate!’ The smaller avian demanded suddenly, and the mare bristled beneath the soft drape of her cloak, in response. She could feel the urge, strange warmth within, but Africa was afraid of it more than excited- she could not fathom anything wonderful, amidst all the sickness and pain which had escalated around them. “I don’t understand it.” The young mare’s expression was mellowed, confused. The tenderness of her soul rose quickly to wash the bitterness from her glassy gaze, pleadingly, and Silas fluttered forward for the sake of moral support to perch upon her rump.
As he landed, the dappled mare’s eyes closed tightly- and though still the excitement was not there, she felt as she dabbled still deeper than she might have otherwise preferred, the sudden arc of energy as magic spewed through her veins. “I can feel it...” She gasped nervously, almost releasing the grip her mind had to draw it from its dormancy, “... but it hurts; it’s making my body ache horribly.” There was slight panic in her voice, an air of trepidation that the Zphyr could not at all relate to. His ability caused no agony, and he insisted that she not give up. ‘Focus...’ he told her again- and the skin around her charcoal eyes wrinkled gravely as she clenched their covers still tighter.
All of a sudden, a shriek of pain flooded the foggy, dark world around them, and Africa’s part-equine form shrivelled in what could only have been described as curling wind. From the breeze was expelled the frame of a bird; a parrot, whose mottled grey feathers reflected the bleak dappled mare which had been standing there. Blunt crimson tail feathers were flared as the creature wavered and flailed through the still, rotten air helplessly; her mind whirling with crazed confusion- she had taken the form of an African Grey parrot.
“I’m... Flying!” Her mind squealed, the pain still a dull throb through her now brittle core; but the sound of her voice as it hurled her bewilderment publically was naught but the raucous screech of her form’s natural tongue.
Silas wheeled higher above the Heart, the roofless heavens opening again to his beloved, and he invited her to follow eagerly, drawing her through the tight clasp of their bond. Together they soared north, while distraction forced Africa’s unhappiness from focus. Always the young Roc watched for her safety, but the ravenous wraiths never came hunting; perhaps they could not recognize the mare now- they had never shown any interest in those who were not Helovian horses.
They descended together through the canopy of the Threshold.
Leaves once bright, rich emerald, were now dull and sickly; suffering. The darkness was not so prevalent here, though drifts of sallow air curled wickedly through the mahogany corridors in warning to any wanderer nearing the rim of safety. The two birds descended rapidly, finding some strange peace in a region relatively unscathed. They drifted in silent unison, Africa far more nimble than she had ever been in Pegasus form, until she could bare the pain of her shape-shift no longer. “I need to let go,” her mind cried out suddenly, and the parrot began to tumble suddenly towards the ground- the stability of its form crumbling again into that thick, vaporous wind through which it had been birthed. As the ground rose, Africa’s eyes opened; she was ugly, a disabled mare again.
She hit with a sickening thud, and Silas swooped to fuss frantically about the slump of her winded body. ‘Africa!’ He called, ‘Africa’! The mare’s large pale face lifted towards him tiredly, her eyes parted quietly as they sought to ease his stress. “I’m fine,” she soothed, her voice barely a whisper, “...no more pain.” And it was true, the pain roused by the new magic had shrivelled away to nothing and she felt worn out, but normal. Though the gifts of safety, swiftness and flight had been marvellous, the young grey cringed at the thought of morphing again- it was not a comfortable ability.
After the mare had found her feet, rested a small while, and recovered what energy she could (given her ailing health), she and Silas wandered between the trees searching for the sake of old times; for something to entertain the expedition into the Threshold forest. It was the sound of voices which pulled them from thought, and Silas wandered closer between silently stroking wings to find who lurked head. Two mares lingered in the company of a stallion, engrossed in conversation, and after the Zephyr’s clearance Africa meandered forward too. These days, conversation came not easily- much the same, her smile could only reach half the length of its former glory. “Hi...” she offered to all as she neared, noting quickly the painted girl who had flirted so grossly with her former friend.
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