Like a sentinel poised atop his tower, Silas roosted in the pinnacle of a favourite pine, watching with sharp night vision the winding, rubble trail that offered the flightless access into to Hidden Falls. Most nights now, while his beloved slept soundly bedded down in the prison cells to the east, the nocturnal avian found his post there; new responsibility to replace the desert patrols he had enjoyed so thoroughly. Sharp, lilac gaze swept again along the path below but only the scurrying action of a rodent pulled his attention. He was no predator, had not an appetite for blood, and glanced instead to the lightening horizon – dawn was close. Cold, hooked beak opened through a great yawn and star-speckled plumage puffed, flashed, as the cool night wind hastened by.

The murmur of voices below roused him suddenly from sleep.

The sun had risen, cloaking the bold hue of his of night murk feathers in smothering golden warmth and his skin prickled at its touch. Silas shook his small skull, and stretched the stiffness from each wing, both legs, keen eye turned at the same time towards two horses passing beneath – and a wolf, dancing off through the morning amid a cry so chilling he shivered. He and Africa had seen one group meeting already, and the mare who sang out as the song of the hunter waned was a familiar one, marked exquisitely and easy to remember. Against her wingless side was a stranger, leaning awkwardly, like a soldier maimed by war. The zephyrs focus narrowed and the ornate crest of wavering quills and eyes lifted as his interest grew.

They were dithering, hardly making progress at all, and it concerned him. A sharp cry pierced the atmosphere, wings spread and his glossy body sank to a lower branch. Injured, he called to his beloved, by the border.

Her stride clattered against stone as Africa hastened towards the secret pool – the entrance beyond. Flames whirled along her lunging crest, thrilled by wind as she galloped, excited as though by the surging adrenaline through her heaving core. The mare wasted no time answering her bonded’s plea, it seemed many (like her), came to the realm of the Gallant and the Cadaverous for similar healing – the Earth had touched two already in as many weeks! Nevertheless, she grew not tired of her duty and rose to the call with budding concern. The one-winged scrambled along the cliff-face path that she had only before conquered once – confidence spewed through tingling veins and she reached the opposite side, through plunging water and jagged rock without error.

With mist beading across her sombre dappled pelt, Africa paused and cast her eyes through the tangled wilderness beyond. She caught sight of Silas in the pine he often perched at the peak of and gaze descended towards the silhouette of bodies ambling by the sunlit foot of the hill. Like Silas, she recognized the Sleuth, but the ghost propped against her was unfamiliar. Without second thought she was plunging towards them, stone scattering in her wake. Even before she had arrived, the warmth of her humble voice was rambling ahead to meet them, "take rest, you needn’t strain any further." She could not immediately see what exactly it was that ailed him, there seemed not to be slashed skin, and where she might have expected to find blood stained, thick mud crusted and flaked instead.