A hot, dry wind whirled above the coastline to the east of the oasis. Africa could see far away in the distance the impression of the veins, though very dim it was, and rippling murkily behind the veil like heat of the day. It was a region she was not terribly familiar with having visited the shrine of their father only twice, but she always felt soothed by its being there as their far-away neighbour, like the shrines upon it held some kind of otherworldly presence over their home.

The ocean between lashed violently upon itself, driven to frenzy by the shifting layers of warm and cool air through the atmosphere above- she liked to think it was the hand of the God of the Sun himself, protecting the boundary of his land. Surely the coast surrounding all sides of Dragon’s Throat was impassable (those walking would never be able to brave the rough churning waters with still air in their lungs at the other side; and those flying would find offshore gusts overbearing and aggressive), she had tried in vain on a number occasions to brave such fury, only to turn back feebly and retreat to safety.

Hooves to match the soft golden hue of the beach turned at last to leave, the weight where the Starry-Eyed had been standing for some time filled instantly by new sand pushed ashore by the white frothing waves. Since morning, she had patrolled nearly the entire perimeter of the Throat and as she made her way gradually further towards the linking land between the mainland and the desert, she found her long, slender legs beginning to ache. It was not easy travelling through sodden loam and sand, but throbbing muscles meant productivity, and she told herself that such could only be a positive thing. The last rainfall of Birdsong had been quite an overbearing event through the parched island, causing a great flood to gush from its centre. The soft, variable hues of sediment thereafter lay strewn across her path- severed branches, waste and rich soil all lost in the storm now littered the area. She picked her way carefully between, pausing again only when she came across an unusual string of muddy-green seaweed washed ashore, beaded all over by small unopened pods. Intrigued, she collected the sour plant and shoved it snug within the small satchel secured beside her left elbow.

Silas watched silently, far above the blistering sand that was bordered by the hungry lash of the cove’s waters with hawk-like eyes trained to find movement. It was a ritual these days to patrol the overpass of land below and from the perspective of those ground dwellers who traversed the only earth route between the Throat and the mainland, the black zephyr should have looked only like black spec circling- a vulture perhaps, on the prowl. Their home was quite vulnerable these days, a sapling struggling to delve deeply its roots, and it gave Africa much peace of mind to know that that piece of land was under constant observation by one or another. Their bond had changed so dramatically since the Darkness. He was no longer her crutch or confidant; they had become a seamless partnership within which words needed rarely to be exchanged.

That was how she knew he had come. Through his eyes she glimpsed quietly, drinking any which he saw.

The visitor arrived on their doorstep late in the afternoon and his coming, black on ivory body lingering by the rock and sand rim, did not go unnoticed. Africa was just short of the bridge and hastened her step as her bonded’s mind hinted glimpse of him. His memory was not one so easily discarded; she did not wish to forget, and something between confusion and delight had splayed into her tender expression. “Midas?” The softly romantic hum of her voice ventured boldly ahead. Africa had thought him lost to the darkness, maybe trying to save yet another’s life, and most definitely the stunned mare had not expected him now after such a long absence.