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Although the gift of flight had been restored to her, though somewhat primitive it truly was, Africa felt not the need to lift into the heavens at every opportunity like those of her bloodline should. The one-winged mare had been shackled by gravity for such a period of time, that trekking afoot was second nature. Her body had shed the litheness necessary to soar between grand wings along the currents curling through vast blue; it was slim, wrought with rippling muscles and padded well to suit the life of a ground dweller and the journey’s one such pitiful creature would endure. In place of the grand athleticism of her kind (without the need), she portrayed the true elegance and marvellous physique of Spanish heritage, pools of soft grey dancing atop clever hooves to the hidden tune of desert winds swirling along the surface of the dunes, stirring clouds of dust to plume around her as she went.

It was home. Dragon’s Throat was where her heart lay; was where she yearned achingly to be whenever duty called her away from the southern paradise flanked by naked parched and searing earth. Africa’s gait hastened the nearer her churning limbs carried her, and her heart fluttered with glee as the long, narrow strip of bridging land spread into the south before her. She’d been patrolling just north of her homeland’s borderline by the brink of the clay heart of Helovia and Silas wheeled far above to the east where his swift shadow skimmed the angry waves of the summer ocean. She paused before the rocks paving the way home loosened, lowering flared nostrils curiously towards the scent of one unknown who she thought to have passed by maybe less than an hour before her. A brisk snort disturbed the dust cloaking the stranger’s invisible trail, and it was whisked instantly into the cosy breeze.

Right away Silas was feeding from the rouse of her thoughts, the thunder of a moved heart, and shifted to cover the northern beach of the Throat, searching always by the bridge for any sign of that visitor. Violet eyes found quickly their target and another also that they recognized not. Fractured images of the scene below were delivered into the mind of his beloved, a young (dwarfed) stallion who appeared at first fleeting glance to resemble Voodoo (he too had a small canine at foot); and a considerably sized mare who lingered by the border in his company. Lower and lower the star-spangled zephyr descended above them, and he realised quickly that it was not Africa’s long-time friend. There was no tree in which he could alight, no boulder or spine, so the avian continued to circle warily above- though he noted quite audibly through his bond with Africa, the direction each horse was facing (her to the south, a fair sign that she alone sought something; and he to the north, a brother of sun and sand).

Africa came upon them quickly, guided always by the black beacon shining against the brightness of the clear sky, and slowed her surefooted canter as she pulled up (a thoughtful distance) behind the mare. The rubble strewn across the narrow strip of land scattered as each hoof leading slid beneath the instruction of stiffened white knees, and all around her kindly white expression cascaded the thick oily, flame engulfed tangles of her unruly mane. Through the dissipating shroud of airborne dust the one-winged Pegasus stepped towards the duo with a delicate smile written through each taught line of her pallid face. She was a mild-natured creature, peaceful and clever, and though the weight of her crown pressed heavily across her bobbing brow, she forced the strain from their sight. "Afternoon," she offered them smoothly, warmly, careful pastel gaze surveying each horse in turn. From his vantage points (high beyond the reach of ignorant eyes, and locked snug beneath those of his beloved), Silas watched guardedly.

[ooc: @[Sacre], I hope you don’t mind if I use this thread also for Africa to meet him. I would like them to speak further, later, so that she can formally give him the rank of Sleuth.]

Africa