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They swept through the north of the desert, surveying with meticulous care the entire perimeter devoured by the ravenously thrashing ocean. Crude boulders clung loosely to the sheer cliff-face there, rising above the waves to prop their home and family safely above the moon-tossed tides. Africa marvelled at them, as they passed effortlessly, guided by the bitter wind above. The south coast of Dragon’s Throat was not nearly so hostile; smooth sandy beaches strewn with shells and at times sheets of wayward seagrass, but nothing so precarious as that which spanned the borderline to the north.

Her wings were not adept like those of her star-spangled company. She swooped and lurched clumsily, as was the natural habit of the creature she embodied, and the wind goaded her heavier frame, tumbling it occasionally with cruel flurries from behind. Never the less, she kept pace and watched Silas with a pinning pupil whenever she was not gazing, transfixed by the new world they were drifting over. It was the first time she had patrolled, ever. The Zephyr she flanked had contributed his time to the Throat’s army on many occasions, requested to or not, but Africa had never been interested in the irony of war; of battles and bloodshed, and the traumas they imparted. But Ampere had raised a valid point, and that with the conviction now pressed into her heart as Sultana, she sought to learn more and delve beyond the harmony of her own comfort zone.

Silas took her to where the bridge of rubble-rock and sand formed the only bridge between the desert and the mainland- a feature that grew fonder and fonder as the hours passed. Africa knew Sohalia’s work would be much less now, considering previously required length of their formidable wall, and smiled though the beak jutting between the switch of her roving eyes had not the ability to crease like the mouth of her Pegasus self. There was no movement below; only the white froth of waves still far further below the landscape.

As dawn broke across the eastern horizon, their path curled back towards the smear of green which heralded the position of their beloved oasis, the lake- the Throat. They dropped lower, skimming the earth’s dusty crust for a parrots endurance lacked in comparison to the proverbial flight patterns of the Zephyr’s elusive ancestors. Sunlight streamed through the thinning haze of bleak clouds, caressing black and grey feathers and warming their bodies to the core. The return of the light, of the sun and the God who wielded them was so welcome, that the pair revelled and played through channels of air as they went along their way- still scouting for the unusual; the visiting.

Partway between the bridge and the leafy centre of their home, a figure was noticed walking- and another towards they. Silas slipped ahead with speed Africa’s parrot body had not been blessed with, to assess. He did not recognize her- had never seen her, though he could feel the opposite glaring through the mind of his beloved as she drew near at a bumbling leisurely pace. The shape-shifted mare knew them both actually, the dove white mare who had been nothing but lovely, time and time again, Sohalia- and a warrior who had not been seen for a great many seasons (Before even the Endless Night!) Mottled grey feathers rippled in the breeze as she diverted her path to steer a wide circle around them- she was tiring, had been flying for hours longer than her wings might have preferred, but with renewed enthusiasm Africa urged herself on.

A good distance away, she landed and dark scaly legs hopped her slight frame forward- each bounce exaggerated with parting, zealous wings. It would take her a while longer to cover the whole distance dividing- but with Sohalia on hand, she felt little urgency to interrupt, perhaps they even knew each other (a reunion to be left alone- she did not know). At least by approaching in this manner, she would not readily draw focus from the conversation they had clearly already begun.