Trying in vain to conceal the consuming, relentless enthusiasm which seemed always to grow when the fire-bird was near, Silas clicked his beak and swooped from the boughs of the rustic old pine. It was well that he’d spent those few minutes grooming. Glossy black feathers captured a dull, bronze form of her brilliant radiance, adding to it intricate star-like speckling, so that he looked spectacular; long, ostentatious purple-tinged crest and tail flared, a violent clash of lightness and dark, and he descended delightedly, boldly, towards her.

Africa watched fondly the vain appeal of her soul-mate as he sought yet again to win Fina’s friendship. She was a beautiful creature, aloof and to him, cruel. His insistent interest despite that, was a great source of entertainment however, and should the Roc have been so aware (above and beyond his suddenly narrowed focus); he might have scowled in protest at her crude pleasure. Bright round eyes turned back towards the mare and the stallion; the striking winged mare, and her brother, affection tickling her heart, pulling her also from the branches to the cluttered forest floor.

As sharp black nails fell upon warm, raw carpet, she closed her eyes tightly and began to concentrate. A light, strange mist gathered suddenly like a flimsy, swirling blanket around her (though she was never entirely hidden). Bones began instantly to crack and bend, shifting beneath the growing canvas of shrivelling feathers and expanding mottled fur; new legs began to descend and one wing to shrink away as her body developed, inflated. In a matter of seconds, ten or twenty, she was swaying across four knees, white and grey, gathering strength enough to walk forward; orientated and again poised.

So magical was her ability to transform (and painful and even gruesome), that a cloak of soft green velvet now rested along her back, falling across her flanks, and a crown of gold dancing dragons was nestled amongst licking flames upon her brow- both having appeared out of nowhere. Normally too a leather satchel might have been tied beneath her left elbow, but the one-winged had lent it to the aspiring Sun Physician Sikeax, to store herbs collected and carry to World’s Edge.

Africa smiled as she approached the couple, weariness at last fading from her young, gentle eyes. “Hi Midas...” she greeted, passing another sweeter glance to the scowling Phoenix above, “...Fina.” Silas had settled (hardly) onto the branch she occupied, though with generous space still between. He was purring softly to himself, perhaps hoping his softer side might interest her. Twitching lips wandered back to find the stranger, lovely, pallid and marked with clean lines of green- curious. “Hello, I am Africa,” the Starry-Eyed cooed softly, “...my friend above is Silas, and we come from Dragon’s Throat in the south.”