Thick lashes blinked firmly together as she listened closely to all that he said.

It was strange that their voices did not echo in such a small space and she wondered inwardly if he noticed – if it were her imagination alone. The thick dull atmosphere all around seemed to choke any expression from his words (so she thought), and the weak humour that had tempted moods higher wasted away too quickly. She pined for it as a more serious, sombre feeling seemed to swell instead all around them.

Flames licking through her oil-slick mane began to waver uncertainly – or was she swaying?

Hope within weakened and apprehension began to escalate once more. Africa felt suddenly woozy, confused, and unsure about why finding Midas had so suddenly become the priority. Silas croaked and lifted from his bed nearby, eying cautiously the mare whose thoughts had swerved so drastically off course.

It pained her some to hear mention of Gaucho the Wildfire’s worry – perhaps there was a part of her that wanted them to be angry, to shun her and wish never for the return of a sister so poor. Would that not make her desertion all the simpler, so much fairer? It seemed Africa had done everyone a disservice on this occasion, and she felt a lead weight in her chest. Power and privilege had never been high among her desires...

She dallied above the stallion for a moment, hot breath lingering while buttery eyes searched the length of his two-toned form for any sort of justification. She wanted to touch him; sultry, steaming and real. “Thank you...” she whispered into the muggy silence instead; graciousness for the clemency he offered, that she had asked for – though she strained to find anything deeper than genuine hospitality. What was she expecting? Who was this man that lured her like a moth to the flame? Lungs filled to the brim and jaws sealed snug so that it could not escape; she turned again to that wall, to run lips by the gap and feel the bitter cold if it lingered on outside.

Was this still her sleeping?

Long limbs were restless and they fidgeted, pulling her from one side of the magic-built barrier to the other, and she began to wonder when this cave would begin to shrink around her, just like the mirrored cage before. Air erupted from flared nostrils and was sucked in again deeply – the wind outside was burning, freezing, and she jerked back startled.

Why was she so anxious?

A seed planted years before as only an implausible fantasy, had grown into something more beautiful than expected. It was new, frightening, and she fumbled helplessly beneath its pressure, not quite understanding.

Africa turned, surveying almost desperately the tight room and all who sheltered within it – the young iceberg white avian caught her eye, nestled impossibly into the fire of the Phoenix’s body. “Who is Fina’s nestling?” she asked unsteadily; not able to centre her turbulent thoughts in any one direction. “I...” Pausing, her eyes looked for his and her gaunt face was bewildered. “A murderer?”

What am I doing here? she begged.

... And with the tender embrace of claws against her hide came the response - You need him!