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Moments were let to pass, seconds perhaps, that felt to the stricken mare like aeons, spinning way beyond her control. She knew no other side of him than the romantically tender soul who stood there so graciously in her presence. The hurt in her heart was not so binding that she could not climb above the dwindling darkness; the snapping jaws of depression that often sought to drag her from reality. Even as she felt driven again subliminally to pull yet more feathers from her wing, Africa knew that no maliciousness lurked beneath the pleading of his crimson-stained stare. She could not turn from him and was pulled quickly from disheartenment by the soft care in his tones. He was so unlike Windwalker. Thickly lashed eyes clenched against the memory of the manipulator, he had no place in her heart; in this moment. Silk paused, and the turn of his burning eyes caught her attention. Vaguely she followed, pale pools too wandering afar, though always her ears remained set forward- well natured, trusting his broken revelation.

She thought of Midas, another name who brought a wince to her expression. He had been her sounding board, her logic and balance for the many years shared by the cool, clear waters of the oasis. When Africa had been naught by a reckless child, he had offered her direction and calmness. As a golden-eyed General, he had rescued her and even after, when his grace had been set to power overall the Throat, he remained like a father figure, understanding and wise. For a long while she had adored him, followed and fantasised, but as her mind matured she valued him still more as perhaps the closest of her friends. It had been one season and a bit since the one-winged had set fond eyes upon the Gallant, and she missed him terribly. Such a void had been left when he had vanished, and often she stood by the northern shores of her home waiting...

She had been waiting for so long.

The sound of his voice choking overwhelmed her consciousness, and her gaze fell quickly back to caress him, comfort him as he continued to explain. His own eyes remained cast away, absent, lost beneath the spew of his thoughts and memories, she thought quietly. She could see a faint glow reflecting as they roamed the eastern horizon absently- dawn perhaps would soon flood the land.

Silk’s words suddenly waned, emotion racked voice suspended as the breeze died around them. She watched him caringly; unable to hold back when his eyes began to blink helplessly at hot tears swelling. Supple nose moseyed forward again, to reassure him that no grudge was held; that she would stand by, no matter what weight needed to be shed from his shoulders. She did not want him to feel the guilt that now stifled his expression. Tenderly she stroked with loose lips against the stiff, shivering plane of his shoulder. He went on and she listened, stepping closer, pressing her cheek back in place against the trembling pad of his black breast. He had been looking for her- and her mind began at once to hum adoringly; unavoidably flattered that he had cared so much. The stallion’s face lowered soon after, and the grey’s pale mask rose to meet it, to lean heavily upon his offered cheek. She could feel the warmth of his tears which had streamed down through his fur, and though tearless herself (a lifetime’s worth of suffering had dried away her ability to cry truly), she indulged the hopeful croak of his request with, "I do..."

Silence fell across them.

"Silk?" She started quietly, sliding slowly the curve of her back beneath his chin, stopping only to nuzzle affectionately the mane-clad peak of his withers. "Are you coming home now?" There was a desperation lacing so slightly her tone, a need to have him close by; to never lose him again. So much had changed already, and in those moments by the light of the moon, a new strength had surged through her core, a warmth and passion; completeness.

Africa