She could no more rid herself of that bitter reclusive feeling, than cull those memories (the scars and the fresh gaping wounds) that had provoked it. Beige eyes watched steadily, remotely, the two mares who stood chatting above the wet, cold slush which offered little in the way of homely comfort. She could not deter the sting of her homesickness; Africa missed the desert terribly- the soft warmth of that rust-gold sand beneath the vastness of an open sun-drenched sky. As a chilling breeze swept down through the old groaning timber from the northern ranges, the hair covering the length of her narrow spine shivered unhappily.

Abishia had been a sweet enough addition to the sourness that had overridden the simplicity of her life. Few friends before her had been so tender minded, and always it had been Africa that cradled the world’s sorrow against the kindly warmth of her bosom. When no such compassion simmered through her being; stirred her heart to beat soft radiation through the despair of others, never had anyone before the painted bay and white girl been ready with a shoulder to wedge against her fall- the rise of an unexpected friend had been equally as shocking as it had been welcome. The grey breadth of whiskered lips curled at last into a meagre smile; the best a fraying soul could manage.

Before silence could rise its brooding walls between them, Dawn Dancer introduced herself civilly and the one-winged mare nodded quietly in response. The other then questioned the health of Helovia and Africa’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully; intrigued that one so new could be so brilliantly perceptive. With wings trained to each flank though, she presumed perhaps the taller mare had executed a courtesy lap around their home- surveying all the ruins of a land once thriving and glorious. "Yes," she answered easily, passing a glance around them to witness perhaps which signs manifested through the Threshold itself. Frostfall had already lain itself overbearingly across the forest, and she couldn’t immediately tell whether the bleak weather had marred the lavish region, or if the wicked breath of Helovia’s Darkest Hour had whittled away the usual loveliness. Certainly, what spread around them now was nothing in comparison to the horrors they would undoubtedly pass in the next hour or so.

"Those who had not been taken and turned into ravenous undead shelter in a deep cave- The Sanctuary. Really we should not linger," she added with a subtle tinge of apprehension to the soft billowy note of her voice. "We cannot presume anywhere else to be safe these days." A grim glance was given to Abishia; strangers before, forced into the same quarters to cower below all manner of evil as it churned hungrily above.

Africa