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The air was thick with humidity, the day hot and revoltingly clammy, and the dappled coat of the one-winged mare was pearled with shining, shimmery sweat as the sun shed its ferocious burning light down upon her. She had travelled north to the forest from her southern desert home upon the wings of a parrot much earlier when still the wishy-washy hues of dawn were breaking across the distant, eastern horizon. Her ability to transform and fly allowed a relatively swift journey, and clever camouflage between shallow minded communities who ventured across the land mostly with selfish intent. They figured not who she was, cloaked in still the same greys as her dappled, fur coat; sporting unlike them, a hooked beak and screech to irritate and deter. She blended well into the land, unusual yes, but not so much like the basilisks and zephyrs, spider-queens and tiny twix’s and could travel as though invisible. Certainly though, as she strolled between the woody old legs of the Threshold upon sure hooves and burly white knees, Africa was quite discernible.

A great crowd had gathered that day through the glades and trees alike, choking the tranquillity of the region with a drone-like hum, their proud, obnoxious voices drowning out the warble of a courting songbird and the whisper of leaves so stroked by the breath of the intermittent breeze. Africa found no comfort in the midst of the population; their lives were loud, their strategy too rehearsed, and instead she dithered where the shade felt deepest. Quiet eyes, buried beneath the flutter of long black lashes watched groups form and disperse before her- it seemed that the passing of the darkness had enticed a new generation of Helovians from the woodwork and she struggled for the most part to find any faces she recognized. With waning interest, the one-winged mare turned upon cracking, groaning limbs to find some place quieter so that she might gather her thoughts and decide whether or not to return another day.

Silas rested quietly upon the dip of her back, beak nestled snugly against the puff of his raven-black collar; dozing while the brightness of day offered no comfort. The zephyr was a creature of the night, born of starlight and beauty; though the glitter which cloaked him was quite dulled by the weight of the radiant sun. As his beloved turned, he was rocked from sleep and croaked in mild resentment, casting a chary violet eye to survey the woods surrounding. Their night before however had been long and busy, and he soon settled again to rest.

Africa had not ventured too much further into the trees when she paused, coal-rimmed nostrils flaring as her creamy gaze traced the form of another, a unicorn- or something much the same. Gingerly she let out a long breath, a snort loud enough to alert the stranger of her presence before continuing. She paused thoughtfully so that a small distance remained between them and offered a gentle smile. "The Threshold is busy today." She remarked candidly, glancing back in the direction from whence she had come- the glade which still teemed with life. "I’m Africa." Again Silas opened an eye to view the mare which had stirred his beloved’s mind and he watched silently, should the need for his protection rise.

Africa