Apart from the one time trip to World’s Edge with the sole purpose of representing her homeland in the Queen’s exciting scavenger hunt, Africa seldom strayed beyond the cushion of her comfort zone - in and around the Falls respectively. The northernmost fringe of the Threshold forest had become familiar, comfortable and a space that she often retreated to; she had explored it with Rasta on occasion, and found it to be near enough to home that escaping foul play seemed relatively easy.

In more recent days though, she had found some solace in the mountain top fields – a region that had struck grave fear through her heart for many years. The unlikely haven saw few visitors, she thought perhaps because of the existence of Sky Island, and took advantage of its isolation.

The gravel path that curled through rock and crevice towards the heavens, the sun, was quite familiar now; carefully placed hooves no longer clattered awkwardly where granite jutted crudely, nor did loose stone scatter as she travelled. Her stride quickened enthusiastically as she ascended the final slope, the steepest tor before haloed grass tussocks appeared, dancing in the high mountain wind.

She was relieved again, that none had passed in the opposite direction – at times the way was precariously narrow, and was hardly tickled by the prospect of any sort of small talk. As it were, she stepped tentatively through the long field-grass, and her scanning eyes found only the roaming shadow of an eagle alive across the path.

Silas had climbed with her, flapping ever upwards between the sharpest fragments of cliff, encouraging and enabling.

Since the night spent with Midas, a bitter sweet memory as she mused back upon it afterwards, Africa had been little inclined to take her second form – the Grey Parrot. There had been some small trigger which had seen her self-confidence turn for the better; perhaps a culmination of events, both good and bad, and since, she had felt far better in her own skin then she had for many seasons (enough even to warrant a tardy return to prayer...).

A flicker of movement towards the centre of the mountainous plateau drew her wary gaze suddenly, and she gulped hard, readying herself to shift form if even there was a slight chance of malice nearby – they were not far from the Basin after all. No threat loomed in the grass however, in fact, the creature lying in the grass seemed hardly aware of her presence. Africa snorted softly, intrigued, and took three delicate steps nearer – there was a body, as pale as beach sand. It was Rasta!

“Oh Rasta! Of all the places...” she exclaimed, launching forward if only for a half stride, but drew to an abrupt halt as she saw the tiny chick nestled most peculiarly beneath her friend’s nuzzling maw. “Oh,” the Starry-Eyed whispered quickly, expression melting beneath a wave of compassion. “...He is completely gorgeous, is he yours?” She had seen many hatchings during her stint in Helovia, enough to recognize the beautiful birth of a new bond, and fond eyes caressed the pair tenderly from a respectful distance.