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Africa couldn’t help but worry.

Midas had revealed to her in confidence his ruined love with Ktulu- she had abandoned him, and the one-winged mare had been witness first hand to the crippling consequence of such neglect. The master of sand and gold had been brought to his knees; his heart broken. She would never forget the pain dulling his valiant expression, nor the way his tender tone had been choked by his grief. His lover had forsaken a child of their blood, a cruel feat which Africa could not help but grimace at.

Feel the burn...

Thus far, the concepts of both love and commitment seemed dubious, and certainly from her perspective,not quite as binding as perhaps they should have been. She remembered also with some anger frothing through her veins, the way the insolent wingless fool, Windwalker had both manipulated her to declare falsely her adoration (though detrimental to the stability of their juvenile friendship it had been for both parties), and then flirted so openly and maliciously with Abishia while she had been barely metres away. Though she felt unsettled deep through her core about this emotional gamble with Silk, Africa trusted him well.

Foolishly the dreamer which had for so long been quashed by the bitterness and malice of the world, began to gnaw away the shackles binding it down. She had been troubled for such a long time, scarred by the wrath of the selfish and cruel; but there against the radiating warmth of his passion and tenderness, Africa felt new life stir within. Her eyes closed, savouring both the sincerity of the moment, and the warmth expanding through her core. As he pressed his chin to bring her nearer again, the one-winged surrendered her reservations in to the whisper of the mild summer breeze as it wrapped around them, first light peeling still closer across the far distant horizon. He spoke, a murmur of fidelity, and the rumbling words fill her with naught but invigorating faith.

Silk pulled away and the distance which grew so suddenly between seemed not even to exist. She too stepped back quietly. There was no sadness, no loss, and no stinging fear as the brackish air sliced through the space dividing. A clumsy smile spilt into her coyly downcast expression, though pale eyes sought to wander everlastingly between the blood-red of his unusual gaze. They concealed naught but the affection she felt, that which tickled her taught dappled canvas to flinch. As his neck curled back and away from her she watched, enamoured, as his lips fondled carefully between the shining moon-washed tendrils of his mane. To her surprise, he plucked free an Amulet- softly toned like his hair and glowing, a contrast to the fiercely beautiful trinket which was strung about her elegant shoulders by Midas’ fashioned gold.

‘Gi-t’... he told her pointedly, presenting it across the way. Delicately pearly teeth reached to grasp the decoratively patterned rim which protruded from his grip. "Thank you." she whispered gratefully and received the amulet when his jaw relaxed.

As she turned to place it carefully in the satchel by her elbow, Africa thought suddenly of the intricate, beautiful feather saved, stashed there also. It had been given to her by Windwalker nearly a whole year ago, as a tithe when she’d been tending the sacred fire of the Diviner. Briefly her brow furrowed, and she felt compelled to set it free into the lashing waves of the ocean nearby; but she thought presently that it might be a nicer idea to return to it to him, to bid him goodbye. She imagined such closure would be a considerate gesture, should any stress still be binding his mind about their estrangement. Certainly she held no regret; his was a split mind quite beyond the ability of her tender-hearted nurturing to repair. His tongue was mean, spiteful; angry.

The Amulet dropped from her teeth and fell upon a bed of treasures; safe and secure until she could find for it a chain of sorts.

Smiling gently, affectionately, Africa invited him to take the gold chain from her neck. "Will you find my chain Silk? It's buried beneath flame on top, but if you guide away the part fallen across my breast, it will come free." Her mane was draped thickly across her neck, bright whirling flames dancing along its crest. Readily she rolled her shoulders to help the stallion remove her amulet- the gift bestowed by the God of the Sun himself. "It's yours." She told him warmly, leaning forward with parted lips to steer the loose gold above his tattooed features.

Africa