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She stood by the northern border, the narrow ledge of rock and rubble guiding north not far from the roam of lightly gilt eyes as they traced quietly, broodingly the crumbling white froth of ocean beyond. It had been maybe only a week since their return to these brutal shores. Still the twisted, beaten landscape bewildered her- the loss of Sohalia’s wall to the hungry jaws of that terrible stew of sea which offered them some resilience and protection from the mainland. Carefully her face drew upwards, long black-tipped ears shifting backwards through the motion, and she could see as through a hazy squint of black lashes that distant cliff-line as only a murky shadow looming. She sighed pensively, unsure how faired the other herds after their ascent from the caves- who lead them now, which morals guided their path.

The sand was warm beneath the weight of her body and radiated beneath the sensitive clutch of her hooves, just beyond reach of the combing waves as they slithered silently to wilt ashore. For some time she stood alone, bathing in the fluctuation of thoughts and worries- the content of which had barely been such a burden through earlier times. A scoff racked through her body, ricocheting between the bars of her long, fine rib cage and she wondered if she too would fall beneath the relentless grip of wearing apprehension that seemed to have engulfed Midas during those last days home; through the length of their stay beneath the earth. She bristled against the temperate breath of the new Birdsong, lifting forward the slope of already weary shoulders, and baring her chin to the sun.

Africa would honour the crown whose dragon’ writhed majestically upon her brow.

The swell of thought; of determination and perseverance was interrupted suddenly, and a sharp snort pierced the tranquillity their by the Throat’s northern beach. The muddled fractions of a vision sent peeled through her listening mind, and the dappled, one-winged mare’s eyes shifted left to find the slight blur of airborne black circling above the bridge to the Throat. Company was already upon them it seemed and with an awkwardly suspicious sigh she parted from her post to find the gold-tinged visitor.

The call had not been received by the mare who quickly approached below; the sharp ears of her companion though were not so primitive, and easily they had deciphered the name of their beloved from the roar of the ocean surrounding. He recognized her (not by name), though the turncoat had matured dramatically from the wilful girl who had toyed so carelessly with the tender heart of his bonded. With a cynical eye fixed to her, the zephyr remained far away, circling through the glary blue arc of sky above.

"Aurelia?" The fragile note of her soul carried along the light breeze of the day. She paused a small distance from her estranged company, face tilting as confusion crept through her expression. The feathers- gold, red and black, rattled crudely where they had been tethered to the mane behind her twitching left ear. She moved no further though, not right away, and cast a chary gaze to fill the space left between.

Africa