Lean, splayed legs trembled and tingled as adrenaline coursed through their length and the tight skin canvas surrounding, prickled with dread. Africa’s weight hung suspended in waiting above, swaying as though a freak wind had gushed down from the cliffs to topple her - perhaps throw her into the icy soup rippling down to her right. With gaping eyes she observed the antlered stranger, ears wavering uncertainly; highly alert should the looming threat slip its cover and snap her attention. But there was nothing to be so fearful about, it soon became apparent, and as clenched shoulders dropped suddenly their fraught tension and neck bowed beneath the weight of blanketing relief, a bright laughed spilled from her lips.

Silas turned a reserved eye towards the pair – unmoved, confident that he would have very quickly discovered any danger in time enough for his bonded's escape. As the sound of the mare's amusement peeled through the atmosphere though, he clicked his beak impatiently and turned to preen the elaborately shaped feathers in his tail.

“Why yes!” The Starry-Eyed cried, grinning broadly to perhaps coax forth cheer to break through all shock wrought through the other’s expression. “They’re harmless flames, magic. They don’t burn.” Elegant nape snaked playfully to rouse the dancing fire above and the golden-red blaze whirled ever higher through the cool morning air. “You see? I’m Africa...” she announced in good time, still smiling kindly and moving slowly to stand a little nearer to the blue eyed mare.

Patel eyes noted the other’s wandering focus; they had strayed down to where shining pink still stained her wingless shoulder. Africa eased her weight left and turned one hind-hoof to rest. So many years had passed since that heinous moment in the Basin, that the memory had blurred somewhat and the pain faded. There was still perpetual mistrust deep-rooted through her soul for those with horns, antlers and the like, but since a night spent with Midas the Gallant in the tunnels of The Sanctuary, she had found new peace, and it was enough to dull the bitterness of hate. After the slightest diversion, ice-blue gaze pulls back from the pond and Africa grapples for it with a gently tilted face and tender, beckoning eyes.

“What’s your name?” There was frail innocence about her that the Starry-Eyed found irresistible, fascinating. Once upon a time she too had strode through the rambling lands of Helovia with a childish nature similar, but this young face held also trepidation that struck a chord in her heart.