They had parted from that grim discovery; the ruined slice of forest, now just ash and the gnarled skeletons of scorched trees. Africa’s horror had been uncontainable, the lost lore and violation, much too much for the gentle-heart to bear. Windwalker had offered what comfort he could, and for that the dappled mare had been grateful; heartened. It had been so long since the nurture of his touch, the sincerity and kindness she had all but forgotten had been gestured- and even though it was barely a scab of that which had been, she found herself treasuring it. Quietly too she found herself thinking about the small feathers he had given her to sacrifice to her Lord, the Sun God; she had indeed gifted one into the greedy, cackling flames, but the second she had tucked quickly from his sight between her own cloudy plumage. It was a trinket of who he had been; a piece of him to be cherished.

She walked by his side, comfortably close, but not so that dampened emotions might suddenly flare and feed fresh desire- their relationship was barely a seedling, and should either wish for it to grow and bloom, Africa knew it needed first to be developed and respected. She had let herself swing to the wicked hand of lust and longing on too many occasions now, and scarred had been her heart, by the damage that suck recklessness inflicted. The mild breeze heralding the shifting season swam silently through the space opened between her hot body, and his raven-black barrel. A reminder of what had been, and what could never fracture their bond again. Certainly she wished not to fall from his memory for the sake of misunderstandings and bruised egos, and the once-Oracle wanted never to let him go.

Silence seemed to hedge around them, but she was never giddied by awkwardness; nor stricken by paranoid theories that some wretched plan was fashioning wordlessly behind dark, mahogany eyes. She wanted to trust him. His gaze was fixed ahead, glazed with an expression she could only presume to know, or understand. He was as mysterious as the Hippocamps fabled to swim through the crystal blue waters of her desert home; wild and rugged, a treasure-trove of buried passion. For now, Africa had no right to delve into his conscience- no matter how desperately she wished to tend to him, and she walked as friend and companion alone as they slipped down into the overgrown meadow of swishing grass and brittle, dry thistle plants.

The mare paused at last, lifting her slim nose into the trailing northern wind.

"Wind?" she started quietly, hesitating for a moment longer as the sound of her naturally soft, sensitive tone shattered the starkness which hugged close around them. "The air, it smells…" Flared nostrils sucked deeply at the air and her lungs for once clung to purity. "I cannot smell that sourness so strongly. Can you?" Humble eyes shifted to find his swarthy expression, or any hint; a single quirk in his regal face that might betray his thoughts- relevant or not. Thick lashes batted still surprised by the revelation. They had spent little more than a day in the Threshold, she thought, and during that time darkness and the sickening taste of sulphuric acid had been ripe.

No smile jerked the wrinkled span of her mouth, although hope did flicker momentarily across the shimmer of sundrenched eyes. She was not convinced, nervously fidgeting; calling for the comfort of her bonded’s ever-watching eyes- and he was scouting tirelessly, passing them by in vastly sweeping circles from his vantage point in the sky. "We should return to the caves." It was less instruction- she bore not the confidence to delegate and demand, she pleaded more than anything with earnest apprehension because something around them was changing. Rapidly she sought the approval of the stallion, flames dancing feverishly through the strum of the wind as it continued to spill from the north upon them.


[Note: @[Windwalker]. Timeline wise, this needs to have occurred before the ‘cleansing’ of Helovia is official ;) I hope that’s alright.]