After a considerable effort, pulling and tugging stubborn wet fabric awkwardly, the cloak fell with a slap, in a heavy heap by her hooves. If not for the cool, sweet scent of the falling rain, it would have reeked horribly of horse; of sweat and dirt baked on for weeks and weeks. The zephyr stood splay-legged with flared, fanning wings amid the twisting fire along her waving crest; the feat had been nothing but a flaming pain, an inconvenience that he wished never to repeat... Thank you, she sighed, thick, matted grey tendrils of mane and forelock branched forward across her sodden face. As the bird ascended back to his modestly protected perch in the tree, Africa shook the dreads and they slumped back to place along the stretch of her powerful neck, tangled and dripping.

She had grown less and less fond of the cloak (wore it less and less), and now she realised that it probably had not been lost by the being who owned it previously, it had more likely been discarded. Nevertheless, she dipped her skull to pick it up with a careful bite and slung it across the lowest of the Mimosa’s feeble limbs do dry a little.

Another deafening burst of thunder, complimented with thrilling, vivid lightning filled the grim atmosphere, and Africa could not help but pause humbly as she dithered uncomfortably beneath the sparse shelter. There came from the outside the scrabble of hoof through pebbly mud, and Sikeax appeared with steaming breath, looking quite worse for wear and not the least bit impressed- or so the dappled mare thought, the slightest smile tweaking her lips. She lifted her wing to welcome her friend and sister forward, so that they might be spared the wrath of the storm together; and she chortled amusedly at the suggestion that monsoonal events seemed always to bring them close.

“So it would seem! she answered, pale eyes examining the dishevelled state of the Unicorn. She gestured twitching, smiling lips forward, reaching to brush the thick slick of sand from the left side of the amber champagne body; to groom and tend to the appearance of the mare caringly. Thunder bellowed again, and Africa wondered quietly if the storm cell was still building, resting above their home like the moon above the stars. “What’s news sister?” she asked vaguely, not particularly interested in anything in particular, but curious none the less to find out how Sikeax had been of late.

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