Her chest felt tight. As though a great serpent had bound its powerful length right around the front half of her; crushing, constricting, and within, her heart skipped and shuddered to the dramatic pulse of anxiety. Pale, poorly eyes were laid upon the black and white Czar as he replied and quickly the agonizing panic that had engulfed her so suddenly lightened.

A coward hides... Africa thought glumly, but it was hardly a revelation; her puny self-confidence had over the course of the years been eroded almost entirely, and the downcast dappled mare thought little of herself, her existence, already. As it were, the snow fell too heavily between the pair for her to notice any trace of the smile that had cracked through the stallion’s sorrow, but she did notice the shadow of his neck reaching down to find her bag – a petty lifetime’s worth of garbage, all worthless and pointless...

The mare's throbbing heart sank bitterly and though she wanted quickly to tell him to leave the bag where it lay (now half buried and frozen), the one-winged had neither the energy nor the will to bother.

The dark outline of brawn began to move ahead slowly through the curtain of winter and Africa followed promptly, roused by fear - the risk of losing him again, far more ominous than any freezing, furious blizzard around them. Lethargic legs pulled her careworn frame along behind as though it were cloaked over in all of the worries of the world; chipped hooves sank heavily as they found the trough left in his wake, and she was thankful. Icy snow gathered in her long fluttering lashes, stinging hot, glassy eyes and making any effort to view ahead difficult. So she closed them gently and sighed, allowing the length of her flaming Spanish neck to guide forward searching nostrils until the familiar taste of his body, of the steam rising from it, ignited her senses.

Oh! How she had missed his company.

All hint of the sovereign she had pretended to be was no longer; now she knew that such power and responsibility was hardly the destiny she sought. She had been thrown like loose rubble to fill a space owned by the Wildfire, by Midas himself; just filler - a failure - with probably the very best of intentions... But the God's gesture had been doomed even before it had begun. Africa was a mere shadow of the girl who once danced in the presence of the Gallant. He gave her strength and passion; reason to strive and smile, it had been he that first set her heart alight all those many years ago, and still whenever he was near she felt quietly giddy.

So what of Satanic Silk?

For now his memory was cast aside, she was sick, tired and the thought of him confused her. She had lured him from the Falls like a wicked siren of the sea only to vanish later, without a trace. It was well though, she needed time to think and work through feelings about the chaos left behind. He would be fine without her – they would all forget soon enough. And Africa was prepared to hide herself from them for as long as it took; at least so her mind and frayed confidence could begin to heal. She wished never to be so far from Midas again.

He asked a question and its low tenor distracted her spiralling mind. Transform? Lean legs halted hesitantly and long dark ears ventured forward to find him. “Yes,” she answered softly, though she didn’t know if that were really true. Thought of the excruciating ability sent shivering waves through the thin, sodden coat of grey dapples, but she braced regardless and focused the small strength she had left.

Slowly her bones began to warp, twist and shrink; muscles stiffened and tendons snapped loose. Her body seemed to disintegrate, to shrivel, and feathers to match each shade of her dreary pelt sprouted all at once and shed their sheaths. Four legs became two clad in scale, with claws not hooves; and thick, tangled tendrils of hair disappeared altogether. Several blunt scarlet feathers grew behind, and both wings were restored – perfect and working. These drooped by each side however as weariness descended upon her, and Africa fumbled across awkward toes and fell, light golden eyes searching for the stallion finally before she fell deep into slumber.

With silent wing beats a black, star-spangled zephyr fluttered down to her and his talons wrapped tenderly about the small, limp avian body. He lifted her with meticulous care into the icy gale and turned toward the black and white stallion as though for instruction. Silas had been waiting so long...