Weight slumped lethargically beside the Gallant, Fina and Neve; and the stallion’s damp, masculine musk as it engulfed her, hot and damp, was awesomely intoxicating.

Africa remembered vividly a time long ago when torrents of unseasonal rain fell across the desert and flash-floodwater rushed down through the oasis, their paradise, in snaking channels. It had been the third bout of such drenching weather that dark day and the frothing, rich golden water swept and swallowed anything in its path. Stone, leaf, stick and any skink clown enough to still be basking across sun-cooked rock were devoured; potentially too as the afternoon drew on, the larger creatures risked injury or death if they were tardy and found not higher ground for themselves in good time.

Midas had been a General from memory, but certainly no less Gallant. It had been only a week or so before that he had fought courageously in the mountains to secure the young, inexperienced mare’s safety - brawn rippling beneath a tight pelt of glossy black, lashing mane of the same onyx hue, snapping teeth and earth trembling as he willed it – easily a scene she would not forget.

She had been new to the Dragon’s Throat, as fresh as first light and had not before experienced the wrath of such desert storms – neither the flooding to follow. Midas had come to her aid, breast heaving, caked in mud and soaked nearly to the bone. Fleeing the rain had been low on her list of priorities though she had realised quickly her error. Together they had sought refuge beneath the arms of an old tree, and regardless of his confirmation that all family were granted such devotion and care, Africa remembered well how thrilling those moments of his undivided attention had felt.

Velvety nostrils sucked deeply the clammy air in their cavern and let it free again slowly. So many moments shared, and mostly they warmed her to the core; she felt the heat radiating from his body and nerves shuddered along the bowed ridge of her spine.

Chin dipped lower and lower as Midas wove his tale of the whale about her listening ears. She had not seen a whale before, though his account stirred to life quiet thought of the God of the Earth’s symphony in the same region. He paused for a moment and heavy creamy eyes glanced towards him, lips curling with delicate fondness as they collided with his rich golden pools. “What was it for then,” she nickered softly, curiously, and fought back another yawn with a stiffened jaw.

Although exhaustion spread to numb her now more quickly, Africa was indeed eager to learn how Midas came to have gold following his steps – she savoured this moment, it had been too long between.