With a heart much lighter than years gone by, Africa travelled into the north. She had made the journey twice already in the last month, and both times had been so fruitful that the stroke of her wings today was eager, hopeful. A light, warm breeze ruffled the bristly-needle green canopy of the Threshold as she swooped between great groaning boughs; older perhaps than even her own parents, and theirs. Her stocky parrot body was not as nimble as the Roc who sailed along elegantly in her company, it was heavy in proportion to her wingspan, and her flight was awkward and erratic, playful. “Slow down...” Silas insisted, worried with fair reason that she would at any point collide head-long with one of the rough mahogany trunks in her path. The parrot screeched though defiantly, her raucous taunt falling heavily to the floor of the forest like foamy water from a cliff.

With the swishing golden shores of the Thistle Meadow far behind, they fell beneath the emerald awning and deeper still, until reaching grey talons found grip upon rough bark; an outstretched limb, heavy towards the end, with foliage fingers brushing backwards and forwards through litter carpeting the earth. Naturally Africa bounced, hooked bill eager to taste and gnaw, but the zephyr shushed her preoccupation with a swift click of his own mouth. “We aren’t alone.” Pinning pupils turned towards the ground ahead curiously, bright yellow irises shining as sunlight pierced the flimsy shade for a moment. She could see, as she craned also her small white cheeked face also, a pair standing by- Midas, and a lady whose face she hadn’t before noticed. They were a small distance away still, and began one foot after the other, carefully, skilfully, to climb nearer along her perch; beak clamped firmly, wings dancing to balance, by her sides.

“Rahhhh...” she said, unable to both understand the Helovian tongue or speak it, and turned a watchful eye to examine her friend; to decide whether or not she should actually present herself. Aside from the slow, mild breeze drifting between them (and the crude voice of the parrot); bursting occasionally, though it seemed with lax enthusiasm, the forest was quiet, tranquil. Silas remained in place, crouched comfortably and preening the long black feathers dressing his rear. Some words (sounds... noise) were exchanged between the duo below, and flames burst through the canopy towards them suddenly. “Fina!” The parrot’s mind laughed amusedly for her companion’s suddenly roused interest. She did not feel dissimilar about coming across the Phoenix’s bonded honestly, but had quite mastered her ability to hide it.