A sweet breeze swept down through the valley and the hue of nectar was rich upon its breath. Pale morning light seeped across the sky, dissolving the cool night shade away and inviting roosting birds to stir; they woke, one by one, throwing ringing salutation towards the lofty, brightening horizon and burst into vibrant song that shattered night’s eerily silent grip.

It was so different to a desert dawn.

Of course there was boisterous birdlife tempted to life by the promise of sunlight in the Throat, but there was unique tranquillity about the Falls – the soothing, constant gush of falling water (audible from any part of the lush, leafy region), the murmur and chorus of the birds, the soft fragrant presence of new spring grass and budding, blossoming trees all around, flourishinglife. Africa was fascinated, enraptured. She thought less and less of the dusty, brackish world she had left behind; occasionally both grim and fond memories caused her settling heart to lurch, but for the most part, she was relieved to stand amid the Gallant’s lovely lands.

At first light the dapple grey Pegasus moved from the cover of her den and Silas departed into the tree-tops to forage.

Most of the ice had melted already from the clear blue face of the pond; it had been rapid since she had fractured it with a striking hoof a week or more before. The waterfall spewing down from the granite tors above had doubled and its steady, unremitting presence had become both fond company and reassurance for the mare who hid away, still with chronic guilt; but she knew a few of those who dwelt in the Falls now, and even looked forward to periodic, intelligent companionship. Her swinging stride had long since shed the fear and suspicion which mirrored her thoughts and an effortless grace had returned her tall, slim posture. Her condition was still pitiful, sickly and scrawny, but her appetite was yet to come again fully; despite this, the air about her was again one of cheerfulness and vigour; gentle eyes shone brilliantly, warm and friendly.

Perhaps it was the arrival of Birdsong which had renewed her, or maybe it was the quiet reigniting of passion in her heart...

Dark coal-grey lips dashed subtly with vivid pink (they were moist now, soft and without any sand-dust residue); brushed the surface of the water and pale eyes watched meditatively the ensuing ripples. She likened them to waves left in wake of the course of her life – sometimes they were barely noticeable, she passed with little consequence quite how she preferred; but often lately, those ripples resembled a violent ocean current and such perception unsettled her humble heart. Her mind had gained some clarity through the days spent here however, and already there was simmering new confidence; courage enough to confront sullied memories and began a plan of action. Lashes blinked and chin lifted above a dribble of cool water. Her mood was too good to toil into the past though...

There was a voice from the tree line across the way to the west, a murmur, her name upon the breeze. Curious eyes danced around to find the source, although alert ears had already determined it to be Midas. Eagerness rose through her expression as she scanned the foliage and found the broken, shadowy silhouette of the stallion lingering just beyond view. “Midas?” Tone was merry, playful. “...why are you lurking like a stranger in your own home?” Dark knees lifted high as she loped forward to find him, fire dragging out behind like a golden-red cape.

Africa

As the stallion’s collared black chest broke through its bind of leaf and timber, the one-winged grey skidded to a halt and curled her elegant neck down, chin to breast, all beneath spiralling flames. Should there have been any more energy stored in her still poorly frame to feed it, Africa might have kicked up her heels merrily in turn and invited him more enthusiastically forward.

As it were, the respectful gesture to accompany light teasing, and lips dawn back to smile was all she could really manage – along with a mischievous scoff snorted to chase his response. It humbled her to find trace of the smile once known, now rarely seen; it warmed her through and offered precious encouragement to a passive life that just could not ever seem to be rid of turbulence.

The Gallant drew close, and her mist-grey face lifted once again, cheer still fashioned charmingly through slim feminine features. "I have, yes." she answered comfortably, glancing beyond and around him as though to emphasise the words to follow. "It is lovely here. An outsider would never even believe it." Though she thought afterward, that that was probably best for the safety of the herd nestled between rock and plunging water. Even her first visit with Laedere had little enlightened her to the beautiful world strewn between the crumbled remains of the once thriving Foothills. Warm eyes glinted gratefully as sunlight caught in their midst.

"How’ve you pulled up?" she asked attentively, noting curiously the sudden stray of his bottomless golden gaze from her own. Nevertheless, black nose extended and the Starry-Eyed touched it delicately with her own; soft breath shallow and brief as she drank quietly his scent. Rising with noiseless wing-beats, Silas found a branch to set sharp talons upon in the copse from which Midas had come. Retiring his attention, the dark zephyr began to preen skewed feathers along his back.

Africa

She listened as he spoke, perhaps more closely than she might to any other. Long, eager ears were turned to the sound of his rich voice, the accent born by his tongue one she never tired from hearing, and glistening eyes were lain with part-masked affection upon his enigmatic ebony features. The Gallant smiled delicately, and it warmed the dappled mare through.

So many times in recent years one or the other had been crippled by grief, and it was heartening to learn that his soul was perhaps mending – she knew that the spirit was easily shaken, broken, but not so repaired. Her thin grey lips mirrored the smile thoughtfully, and beneath the haze of pale-grey, skin bloomed blush pink and chin dipped demurely nearer to her chest. It was not so much the suggestion of compliments, of fair company’s effect, but that she too had found some solace, and also imagined it to be a reflection of the stallion (and his herd’s) benevolence.

Midas spoke on and Africa listened quietly, contentedly, heart’s pace quickening at the mention of his Lord and the patron of their home. Perhaps it was nervous tension – a residue guilt that just could not be shaken for all glory bestowed that she had seemingly turned her back on. There would come a time when the feeble fire-follower would seek refuge in the bosom of her Father, but for now she needed to rest and heal both mentally and physically, so that she might never again waver in her faith.

Pearly eyes fell open, shock, delight a mounting combination of both pooling through their midst. There had been a time once, long ago, when the art of healing had been one she aspired to pursue. As the time dragged on however, her path had been distracted and her eyes blinded – sense sullied. The Starry-Eyed had trailed off hopelessly in a direction that was no better suited to her than a life spent swimming without fins, and naturally, she had drowned. The Gallant’s words, the rise of a teasing smirk, perhaps didn’t sink in quite as quickly as was needed.

She stood for a moment longer as though suspended in paused time, just gazing, glazing. "It would be an honour." She coughed at last, kind smile rising through disbelief. She was humbled that enough trust was felt towards her by the God of the Earth, by Midas, that she might be given such a chance.

Perhaps her life had turned around at last.

Africa

There was a rush through her veins, intoxicating, warm, like the deep-spring waters she had bathed an aching, broken body in so long ago to one corner of the Basin; it felt almost as stunning. It pooled first in her hooves as though the earth beneath had purged some phenomenal essence, and then lifted slowly through tingling legs so that fine hairs prickled and lifted from the heating skin below. It leaked through her core finally with all of the effervescent glory of songbirds greeting a new dawn and the flames along her crest whirled in furious excitement as the magic slipped up the length of her arched neck; spilling then into her skull, and pooling behind a pale mask of grey where it drew forth a bright drunkard’s blush. The Starry-Eyed shuddered visibly, deeply impressed, and she inhaled deeply as almond-round gaze clenched closed.

Then at last the sensation seemed to evaporate as though from gaping pours, and Africa’s brightened eyes flashed open.

Thank you, she prayed silently, turning her gratitude firstly to the heavens; and then to the Gallant who stood by grinning the one-winged mare smiled broadly, toothily, and gushed warmly, "Thank you, Midas the Ascended." There was perhaps the smallest air of affection in her tone, but mostly it was laced with solemn respect and thankfulness which mirrored the overwhelming feeling in her heart. He suggested then delicately and thoughtful her eyes sought quickly the steadiness of the ground – she wasn’t sure how His magic worked!

As it were, the longer she stared down – soft spring grass and the smiling faces of budding wildflowers inspiring her thoughts, the more focused she became and at last tiny emerald shoots began to bloom amid the natural Birdsong growth. With a lengthening grin, Africa gazed dotingly down at them. "Come on..." she whispered to them encouragingly, both charmed and excited that power within her had called to life something so beautiful. For a moment she forgot that Midas was with her, she was engrossed, captivated; had she remembered she might have blushed and thought herself a little silly. The vines grew still larger, tempted from slumber by kindly tones, though there was no wound to which they felt drawn and they swayed in the mild breeze uncertainly without any direction. The Starry-Eyed felt their confusion. It was almost as intuitive as the language she shared with Silas.

"Sleep now..." she continued soothingly, voice as soft as dawn-light, and the young plants melted back into the grass covered soil from whence they had been summoned.

Africa

As the magic waned gradually from her blood, her bones, the very essence sealed beneath rippling, prickling skin, Africa felt herself sinking very suddenly beneath a blanket of overwhelming fatigue; a weariness that compared not even to that inflicted by hunger. It was not painful, nor did nauseousness roll through her stomach – quite the contrary, the fluttering of one thousand trapped butterfly wings. Pastel eyes startled from the soft bed of carpet into which her vines had returned, and lunged upwards towards the steady golden gaze of her waiting Czar – he ushered towards her a caution, tender though it was, and flames flickered wildly the one-winged mare’s long slim bounced receptively. A broad smile pinched back the corners of her stormy-grey lips.

Their reunion was to be a brief one, though at least one hour had been spared for them by the Gods, a moments grace to dabble in the fond friendship which seemed ever stronger for all of the grief shared between them through the years. Midas announced his exit, heralded by the return of fire and ice from the heavens, and a smooth sigh sailed between her teeth. "The never ending..." intermingling tone revealed quietly, without enough energy for anything brighter – she understood these days, truly, but the Gallant wore his responsibility beautifully.

He always had.

"Thank you." She answered his final notice with a fond smile, crest skewed behind her tired ashen expression. Africa was not disappointed to be bidding him farewell so soon, she was exhausted, utterly, and she could feel the weight of her lashes as they fluttered in vain effort to remain apart. The magic now gifted to her - the service owed to this merciful herd, would take some acclimatizing, but she was not intimidated by the journey ahead. In fact, a giddy excitement surged in waves through her standing core as she watched the brilliantly painted stallion turn to leave. She lingered only long enough to be certain he would not return suddenly, and then turned, herself, to nestle down beneath the mountain’s cold face and recover.

Africa