Walking away took self control. I'd left her alone with him, expecting...nar, nothing.

At least my strained self found it considerably easier to return to daily paroling; putting forth a show, as if their love nest reunion had little personal significance. Work had thus far always been my answer to emotional situations. Tirelessly the day creep by with a pace that most snails could outdo. When night finally fell, those remaining burnt rays of smothering amber simmered into coal. I went to my hollow; seeking a much needed recharge for a weary bulk and yearning to find an escape through the dark abyss.

Hours later, this mind was still awake and anxious; despite my flesh feeling spent.

Tired of forcing myself to stare listlessly into the thicket. I moved from underneath those gangly limbs and into a circular clearing that lay exposed and lacked the presence of view hindering canopy. Crown drifted to the shimmering milky glow overhead. Those stars are to me (and will always be) cold, distant, and uncaring. Patched forelegs buckle, I fall forward into a low bow before tucking my rear quarters until my belly was resting itself against the soil.

Wordless, I dip my muzzle to the sweet smelling earth. A sense of passive easement cloaks my soul like a warm tide; the spirit could always feel His essence in our home...though tis ever acute right now. Its firm, real, controlled. Blades of grass tickle against cool skin. Ashy lids fall over the glazed gems they house.

@Africa

Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold

For a long while after, hours, the only company Africa felt she was worthy of keeping was that of the mountain’s cold, dark shadow – and she cocooned herself in its blanketing embrace, sobbing silent tears for all of the blessings she had ever thrown away.

Silas watched on despondently, with a pained heart that felt every inch of her agony. He was perched low across crooked legs, with wings wilting heavily to either side, leaning down against the soft, supple wood of a juvenile spruce. Lithe avian neck was skewed to the side, bent beneath a flattened crest, and his skull lay buried below the cloak of intricately star-spangled feathers along his back. There was nothing he could do as his bonded wept into the evening, wanting only privacy to grieve; to mourn by herself the loss of her first love. He knew how frail it had been between his beloved and the stallion with the heathen, crimson tattoos. For the many months that Satanic Silk had pursued her vulnerable heart, the zephyr had made clear his discontent, but he had never truly realised just how touched she had been by him; how he had breathed life into a withering, hurting soul.

Nevertheless, and no matter how terribly she ached, Silas was confident that memories still greater than those she pined for now, were waiting just around the corner – had not she found already new peace, and a fresh beginning here? All she had to do was remember...

Raw, overwhelmed and completely exhausted, Africa emerged from the prison cell upon trembling legs that seemed barely even fit to bear the weight of a child. Her pale, mottled cheeks were stained, saline channels etched through a tortured expression; dark, devastated. She threw a forlorn glance to the glittering sky, and still further to the vast ocean of cold black emptiness beyond, wishing with all of the strength she had left to muster, that it would swallow her then and there – take her into oblivion where she might fall endlessly and feel nothing of life and love again; because surely that would be a kinder end than that of a breaking heart. She wanted to scream, to unleash the bitter desolation she felt into the timid wind - and perhaps dissolve with the last gasp of her choking lungs to become nothing but a vague memory, forever, again...

But there was no sound left to burst that night... and her skull plunged back to earth like a dead weight, flames whirling with violent delight as the fresh night air caressed their wild descent.

One eye peered out from beneath the ebony wing, and it traced her soft silhouette as it moved from the nest, their cave, and passed by beneath soundlessly. He had no reason to chase her; no harm would find her.

The Starry-Eyed knew not where she was going at first; it was impulse that pulled her free of the shackles of her pain, something unexplainable. Her chipped hooves dragged lethargically through the soft soil of the dell, but she barely noticed, even as the soft grasses that often cushioned her on bright sunlit days were grazed by her touch (uncaring, blinded) – she knew only a need to continue. Shoulders grazed carelessly between the bark of the old timber forest, and saplings stroked delicately her throbbing breast as it passed above, tickling the skin to flinch across her belly – but Africa could feel only emptiness, a strange desperate longing rising through it.

A clearing loomed ahead and she could see vaguely that the scrawny trees had thinned around her. She missed their touch, the sting of old broken, unyielding wood as it had traced callous bruises along still jutting ribs. Hooves paused tentatively by the tree line and her heart wavered a moment longer as gentle eyes began again to spew molten tears... but she could think of no place safer than his side, no place more tender or merciful - if only he would take her. “Midas...” she whispered faintly, unsteadily, in case the clumsy scuff of a broken stride failed to alert him prior. Her voice was still choked, ruined by emotion, rippling and wretched. She sank towards him almost desperately, despairingly, across buckling knees, and the cool earth caught her fall with compassion she could not have expected... did not deserve.

There was no masking the rustle of bush and snapping of twigs. This body unintentionally flinched, the flesh stiffened; wary (and with good reason) of who crept in the dark. Both ears automatically pricked, ashy lids opened to reveal a glazed expression that was both distant and present. A wary spark flickering beneath a bed of ash. Somewhere in the dark behind me, another pair of gems open to look my way. Our minds are linked with forced caution, the memory of evil and innocent blood was still fresh upon both our hearts.

Though the essence on wind is of mountain air and moss. Not of acidic copper and rancid meat. A silver queen, cloaked with sunfire approaches. Fina relaxes and in the same moment I released my pent breath. Yar, was she an angel of death or my salvation? A name, whispered softly. My muzzle stretches, flaring warmly as velvet soft hairs tremble in anticipation. Reaching though in eve with a base desire to bury my face against her warm fur, "Africa?" How could one word seem so passively surrendering?

She hasn't left. There isn't even a breath of -him- on her; tis as if their reunion was nothing but a daydream. Something unreal, a fragment of madness and withheld grief born from a heartsick mind. I watch as though looking through a mirror, her body slides forward -- buckling to the soft flora. These lips purse into a concerned frown when an unsavory taste of salt strikes my palate via the passing breeze. Lids widen, the hazy pools sharpen to linger on the silhouette of one curved cheek. Even this dim darkness can't mask those stains from my gaze,"What is it?" velvet reaches to brush away pain, erase that stained section of fur. Soothingly I whisper, "Why weep?"

@Africa

The murky, shadowy smear of his brawny black body and the moon-washed white through its middle, barely moved as the distressed grey neared. It was a relief...

She had been surprised and so utterly disappointed when he had turned to leave Satanic Silk alone in her company already half a day ago – no matter how proper the gesture had been. Still worse had the pale hearted grey felt when golden eyes had failed even to glance back, to meet the apprehensive flounder of her gaze and answer its beckoning call. Though he had not abandoned her, and she knew that truly, faith had done little to help quell rising fear; that moment of brutal conviction had come too prematurely, and she had been given no time to prepare, to steady her decision.

The warmth of his face extended upwards to welcome in her arrival - her clumsy, sorrowful descent - not shun it. Against her cold, damp cheek and all the way along the elegant curve of her neck, their colliding skin seemed to ignite within her all of the fierce passion of an electrical storm; dazzling and vibrant; the same lingering effervescence which had laid dormant, smothered beneath tides of incompatibility for such a long time. Had she even ever known the thrill which seemed so suddenly to swell through her veins? His sureness seemed no more brittle than the old, enduring forest surrounding, or the dark jagged mountains that towered beyond. It leaked fresh confidence through her forlorn soul.

Though grief still wracked her lean frame as it crumbled beside him, there was a lightness and liberty that had been lost when she had surrendered to her suitor’s charm all those months ago. She was a free woman now, blinded and confused by loss perhaps, but without the need to think twice about the companionship now sought so urgently. Feathered wing sank beneath her weight, pressed hard into the soft, moist soil which had once been swathed in lush Foothills pasture – it was a pillow bed compared to the arid rock base of the desert, and she was grateful for that difference.

He questioned her quietly and pulsing, slack ears traced an unanticipated softness in his tone. She felt again the light brush of his movement; lips sweeping the dull rivers of anguish from ashen fur, and she caved further towards its soothing touch. There was no hiding any more – nor ever again. Writhing fire rose eagerly to meet a soft wind, wickedly unaware of any betrayal; and beneath, an expression that had always struggled to deceive, was cast vividly in rich red illumination. “He is gone...” she answered breathlessly – Midas was a brilliant mind, she knew there was no reason for embellishment. “He won’t pursue me any longer.” She wondered if he had heard the words exchanged anyway - the frenzied, unabashed proposal which had seemed so perverted by his desperate infatuation.

She shook literally, the burning memory from her thoughts. It was time to let go...

He was gone. Those words made an undesirable rise of selfish relief swell into every vein and crevice of this body. Aye, selfish because what right did I have to feel satisfied with her loss? Regardless, there was no motion made to halt my approach as tender ebony draws down the delicate line of her cheek; those sensitive hairs tingle when they feel saline moisture that lingers beneath smudged fur.

Fire ravaged the space between her forehead and silvery locks. The former desert queen was an exotic by her own right, beautiful not just by physical appearance. Her scent is bold, a rich rustic mix of mountain air and sweet pine which was strangely intoxicating.

This heart isn't void of pity for their fizzled affections, it wasn't many years ago that I'd stood the heartsick lover. "He would have kept ye safe, given ye a family." Words spoken not to dwell on whatever decision they'd come to...but to assure her resolve. A small, reasonable slice of me wanted to nudge this gentle creature back to his flank, or to any other male of her choice. What life could I offer? She tempted a wounded man, a heart that was becoming torn between the sibling affections we'd blossomed into together, and those of a man and woman.

What did Africa want from me? Aye and I of her? My lips pressed into the strong curve of her neck, a thrilling shot of pleasure jumped my heart a beat forward when the skin beneath a smooth layer of silk trembled. "Can ye find happiness here?"

@Africa

A wistful, yearning glance was passed by the white spray of stars above and she half expected to find the comforting shape of her beloved companion descending towards her with an angel’s grace. They winked and glittered though, distant and cold; devoid of any such warmth like that given by her Sun and eerie emptiness engulfed her. The Starry-Eyed winced to suppress another surge of bitter, hot tears; and quivering lips turned quietly to root amongst the feathers of the painted stallion’s white wing. As a child she had done the same, nestling her tiny face against the downy warmth of her mother – it had been her sanctuary, the safest place on earth.

Midas offered assuring words, but each stung her conscience with the weight of a thousand cactus needles. For a split second she hesitated and ashen face - glazed with bewilderment - turned grimly from its rest towards him. “But I don’t...” the weak flare of umbrage choked in her throat as the unwavering mellowness of his presence smoothed her overwrought nerves. She took a breath, deep and filled with resignation. “My heart can’t be fooled, I realise that now...” she whispered finally, convinced even that hers lacked any capacity to love (a pulsing organ, and that alone). It had been a cruel but valid lesson for both she and the leather-winged stallion.

Satanic Silk is not my soul mate.

In many ways Africa was blind to the trends of her seemingly untameable affections. She had tried so desperately to replicate the enviable, natural bond between her parents; plucked the neediest of hearts from a vast sea of opportunity it seemed. But no matter how easily they had fallen for her, and how dreadfully she sought to return the same devoted passions, the one-winged mare could not commit; instead she grew restless like the wind and wandered from their grasp, installing subconscious barriers, emotional, physical, that would lead to the inevitable destruction of any residual attachment – a pitiless cycle.

Midas’ lips pushed into her warm skin and a violent shiver spread with all of the intensity of wildfire from that touch, exhilarating, terrifying! It stunned her momentarily. Darkness swirled behind suddenly clenched lashes, a chaotic tide of scarlet desire sweeping through every inch of her core and sweat broke beneath the cover of flaming mane. “It has already found me...” she gasped quietly.

How funny it would've been to know that we'd both come from families of life bonded parents. Weaved into a beautiful fabric that made shattered hearts leer with envy and the young yearn for comfort. Da, he'd loved us with a fierce, eternal passion for family. I still remembered how their ember would burn bright in her eyes whenever he was near. They did life together, bleed together. Yar, his strong moral compass was imbedded in my heart. Never to be forgotten.

Theirs was a special bond.

I heard Africa's words and felt my blood sing joy until the soft whisper of her breath was drowned by the thundering of my own heartbeat. A thick veil was sinking across my sensible, reasoning mind. A storm was coming, dark and dangerous...She is here, alive...warm. Real. Lids fold, I slip my face further along her neck, stretching. Leaving gentle kisses that would suggest the opposite of brotherly affection. Actions spurred by the tantalizing way her breath hitched; driving my heart faster until the flesh around my hindquarters began to tingle. Ktulu s voice came echoing, "You refused me, refused us."

I pause, the shutters to my soul drifted apart. Everything I'd ever touched, every life...it only served to wrath, bring pain. Cera, Ktulu, Seele. Africa would only find agony if she lingered here. With regrettable slowness, I pull away. Her trust was beautiful, the dappled girl was a priceless soul and to violate the trust; yar, that would be a cruel crime.

"I..." a whisper, a scramble to find the right words when I'm absent of them. Fragile...exposed. I was tired of these games. Weary of this life, and aye, I've been blessed to live forever.

@Africa

Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold

The Starry-Eyed’s feeble heart raced still faster with each delicate kiss pressed into the warmth of her elegant neck. Every soft, floundering breath taken by velveteen nostrils, seemed to choke on his wickedly intoxicating hue. The pain seeped slowly away into the darkest recesses of her fraught mind; diluted by new passion, raw, potent, and she writhed internally, helplessly, overwhelmed by the hum of this new unexpected pleasure. It was all so perverse given the tortured emotions which had wracked both body and brain barely minutes before...

But she yielded readily to its irresistible energy.

This was like nothing before. Truth resonated through her soul; security lulled all thought.

Like a fool, Africa lingered on beneath the dense cloud of her naivety. Many times after their first meeting (so many years before), an adolescent girl had fantasised about such a moment, a chance to linger so very near to him; to sway beneath the caress of his hot breath alone. Midas had inspired and excited her playful young spirit; touched and complimented the paltry existence which followed. Yet only now - when both minds were stale and emotions warped by the agony of loss - did he tempt that giddy hope back to life. She wanted to surrender entirely...

The cold rush of abandonment slipped gradually between their nestled bodies - night’s loneliest sigh - but she didn’t realise at first. Awareness had been soothed to sleep by the smouldering refuge of his presence, and it was only when exposed hide began to prickle, that the curtain of desire pulled away from her slow, beige eyes. Clarity dawned like a torrent of icy rain, and ashen features; sooty-black ears, all turned to search for his missing heat. Breast murmured against the ridged dent of her hooves, pining, concerned, confused.

He was whispering, and she was straining to hear – struggling to make sense of the shifting mood. Always she had thought herself crude in the shadow of his success, yet another grain on a long sandy beach. Was it that his taste had returned? Hurt pooled beneath light-golden irises as they slipped from the whiter outline of his withdrawn frame, but only empathy fashioned through her expression. “What is it?” she asked quietly, tenderly; masking unusually well the anguish returning to her mind.

White-stockinged legs thrust out from beneath her chest and Africa heaved away from the earth. She dared closer with small hesitant steps and slid worried lips along the frigid line of his spine.

He was worth waiting for - they were worth fighting for...

Right?

We'd grown together at a distance, up until now I'd only been privileged to watch from a suitable length. Behave as was expected, never unpredictable, never unshakable. Yet now here we are at the edge. Tempting each other like the actions were forbidden.

She asks for me to speak, to share my thoughts aloud. Solid teeth slide upon each other, grinding silently together as I consider how to respond. Africa moves to rise; for a moment I'm forced to face the possibility that she'd leave...abandon me here just like I'd wanted her to. My crown slips up, suddenly urgent; there is a word trapped in the back of my throat. Nay. Stay. Molten gaze softens, please...it begs silently. Needlessly.

Instead of leaving the sunchild draws closer. Moist breath is like fire upon my skin; I'm shaken as those lips rake softly down my spine. The King of sand. The Gallant. The Immortal Ascended. Was trembling like a young buck fresh in the rut. Africa's unexpected comfort, combined with the solidness of her presence and my own sinking barriers, lure a reply, "Before ye is not the man thee thinks me to be..." They all placed my heart on a scale, tis no wonder the mass grew disappointment when their balance came short the expected result. Head falls low, fluidly I pressed my legs beneath and push. Moving to stand alongside, I let my jaw drift gently against the velvet soft fur of her barrel. Ivory pinions kiss bare flesh; an empty hole where a birthright was stolen.

"I don't want to...cause pain," tone deepens, but remains soft and steady; a sign, the only warning she'd receive. Would Africa even believe me? "Seems anyone who stands near me for long -- ends up hating me later." I try to smile, but the action feels wrong and terribly false...so a more truthful sigh replaces the lie. This soul felt like it was shattered and she was looking at the broken fragments.

I'm lonely. Alone.

So very alone.

@Africa

Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold

The one-winged mare longed for the return of his warmth, the steamy sprawl of his breath upon her quaking skin; the hot humid wind before a violent Tallsun storm. Air rasped in her parched throat and she gasped again still more quietly than the rap of mouse toes through the dew. The bold groove of his spine where it sank between folds of thick muscle felt as smooth as an egg's shell; still softer than the mushrooms she so often stole from the littered carpet of Deep Forest, and pale eyes clenched to savour the memory.

She would have liked so desperately to explore him, to fondle further the labyrinth of his rippling coat, run lips along the stark divide of black from white and flirt through swan-white feathers. Lungs inhaled deeply as she imagined their hue – still more elusive no doubt, than Lantern Foxes of the west. Perhaps she truly expected that at any moment the Gallant’s patience would tire of her lingering and redden with temper still hotter than fire. The Starry-Eyed had never pursued him so concernedly, so intimately, she was wading through writhing oceans of emotion; vulnerable like the plover that cleaned the crocodile’s teeth.

But Midas had never showed her such coldness; he had shouldered her grief just as often as she had his. He knew more of her secret heart than any other in Helovia.

The black tips of long ears peeked forward through the soundless crackle of flames, listening intently for the rhythm of his breathing; the sobering blanket of silence clung between them like fog. She wanted him to be alright, to unburden his mind; to remember her solace. Troubled eyes fixed their gentle hold upon his illuminated hide. Fire decorated his reluctance as frivolously as it had betrayed her heartache moments before. Africa felt instantly that her motion had been a risk worth taking, a bold venture to push right through the boundary that he had physically forced between them - she cared too deeply for him now to simply conform to the pleas of an ailing mind.

It pained her bitterly to see him so withdrawn, decrepit, and tainted by merciless family who it seemed had forsaken him too easily. She could only guess that it was the Constrictor’s cold grip stiffening its hold once again on the stallion’s fractured soul, the grim reality of loneliness that had been thrust upon him when children had vanished as though into the hand of Helovia’s Darkness... but it did not have to be that way forever. She wanted him to see. There would always be tomorrow; a future to amend. The Starry-Eyed remembered his despair though; all walls had crumbled in the glowing pit of the earth. She recalled every moment they had ever shared – and she needed not his depthless gaze to search.

He spoke... a line so flat it made her throat twist. He was wretched and wonderful, torn and together; she feared not the danger of disappointment.

Beneath the winking starlight Midas lifted, and lean white legs moved only to clear for him a path – an exit if he so wished. Lungs pulled a deep breath in to hold; clinging anxiously to floundering hope with every inch of her being. But he touched her instead and the air rushed suddenly from her body, gushing relief still wilder than a frothing river rapid. As he spurred trembling skin to sweat; the gleaming scar to throb, fond whiskered lips traced the hidden slip of leather where it peeked inconspicuously between cold metal and flesh.

“Don’t you remember?” she whispered dotingly after the low thrum of his voice had vanished; the caress of her eyes upon him was as delicate as the flush on a rose. “What is broken, can sometimes fly again... you told me that once.” A kind, quiet smile pulled at weary lips and she leaned comfortingly her finely-chiselled features against the spray of his silken white feathers. “I will never fly away...”

Thinking back I recall our first few interactions (as recalled many times before.) When a wide eyed girl balked at the presence of a wretched cur, one who sought to shred her innocence with terror, vulnerability and forsaken prick marks of shame. It was in that heated moment that this selfish soul began to care for her. In my own whimsical way. As an older sibling might his sissa, or a father his daughter. Africa had been naive back then, a pure spirit in both body and mind. An unsoiled woman child, enthralled by the bright green of nature and our mythical world for all its wonders, absent the horror. Unseeing the monsters which breed beneath their eyes.

Yar. Those emotions didn't blossom into other forms of affection until later.

Many following memories hastened that growth and made my eyes open to the woman she'd become. Our time in the Heart Caves. Back when I'd been stripped of my title and transformed into a solider once more. The weight of failed parenting had been a heavy bar to carry, coupled with a loss of companionship. How desperately I'd grasped at straws to keep them near, how vainly. It was all for naught but misery. A bitter seed they planted; it took root, inky threads that burrowed deep and soon became a sapling that appeared white as a bone -- eventually the little hollow would spread its branches and grow horrible fruit. For there is no ill born tree that can spur good fruits; just as there is no good tree that will produce bad fruit.

When Africa had carried the crown, decked in flames and light. Our homeland resting upon her shoulders, yar, she seemed to be forever out of my reach. Because this soul would never pursue beyond these borders, for the sanity of this soul.

Tonight, same as the one in those hidden caverns, I'm willing to accept her presence and comfort. Dive into the soothing froth of marble and velvet. Perhaps I'd been looking in all the wrong places, maybe there was hope worth clinging to. She heaves, a delightful exhale that strengths my already intoxicated desire and yearn to chase that smooth silk of flesh further, until I'd hit the high point of her hip. I press my lips into the soft curve of her flank, finding the flesh there quivering, heated. It'd been so long since I'd allowed myself to drown. To gulp. Nar, this lady wasn't a brook to be trodden into without care. Worth time to sip. Yet there was also a hunger building between us...a demand.

More.

I sensed the searing fire as all men would, felt her press against me, that fullness, supply length drawn like a bowstring pulled taunt. Muzzle glides up, nibbling, grooming back hairs I'd previously disturbed. Crown rises up and over the low peak of her spine, resting upon the threshold. A worn smile appears, a brief flicker of awareness in the storm, "Yar," I speak the old words fluidly, but with deep warmth that was absent a few moments prier, "Ye say true. I say thank ye." Feathers tighten against my barrel, supporting what weight she offered with comfortable ease.

Africa was dancing with a wolf in sheep's clothing. The lass couldn't have known. "Stay then," whispered into the fire that danced before my eyes. An unburning flame that looked ready to snap, blacken my face with soot and pain. Crackle the skin after burning away the fur. I couldn't chase her away, not when every fiber wanted to rub down the length of her spine, until we both went mad. "Linger," a murmur, a repeat; as if I'd need further words to convince her.

Perhaps I would.

@[Africa]

Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold

A lone ear turned to receive the invitation - lured briefly, deliriously - by the whisper of seduction towards him, through coiling, restless flame. Its wilted length remained near, willing on his resolve.

Silken threads, mostly black like ebony wood, licked with foreign fervour across dark tightening hocks; and fire like that of her suddenly ravenous soul, licked at dappled fur above that was quickly becoming saturated by the swell of intoxicating lust. It was a feeling as wonderfully shocking as cold desert rain. A breathtaking torrent of water spewing through drought-sick veins, feeding every nook and cranny until her body could bear no more. Wildly she shuddered, drawing stunned features from his warmth for only long enough to recover. Then she returned like an echo off stone, finding instead of leather, the fabled glow of moon-kissed white beside black, shadow that spilled down away beneath his belly to blend into the night. With pursed lips she rode the sleek ivory rollercoaster fashioning his barrel and hot breath, filled with anticipation, reeled on ahead.

No detail was left to imagination as she crept so softly with closing eyes below his wing.

She thought of no other as she revelled in his company and though she felt bewildered still by the irresistible cocktail of chemicals heavy in her bloodstream, the feeling of boundlessness fed an unashamed euphoria. Why would she pull away?

Her voice murmured incoherently in answering – drowsy – and drunk like a fish. The ribs tapered finally beneath her touch and she ventured north to find his loin, eager as a mountain stream’s flow, but with such slow precision all the same, that her appetite seemed never to satisfy. Africa wanted it never to end and she lingered as long as she dared, teasing and taunting her own desire so that nerves sparked ever more zealously beneath her own steaming skin. The musk rising in aura about him – the stain of Earth, of this lush wonderland – filled every sharp breath she inhaled. It was more thrilling even, than the taste of pollen on the wind after the deathly cold of Frostfall.

Mild midnight wind tousled long, hanging tendrils of mane and chilled coat bristled as it passed by in eerie silence. Though the realisation of adulthood ripened her mind like never before, the Starry-Eyed still felt the same exciting tickle of enamour that had plagued her in the earliest of their days together.

Insanity, clarity.

Musky want. Primal need.

I quiver, dazed, panting; torn by her desire and nearly becoming blind by my own. Those teasing lips, full of plush velvet...they are gliding effortlessly into the most sensitive, vulnerable places of this body. A swell of unspeakable pleasure whelps anew, vibrating loose a shaky exhale from a chest that felt balled up with pent longing; emotions I'd almost forgot could exist.

Polite manner and soft vocals speak false toward her blossoming womanhood. She was not so shy as to need coaxing; aye, willingly, almost wickedly Africa went to exploring with such gentle, patient caresses that a shredded sigh rose above the furnace which was my throat. Yar, I realize through the haze...not a sigh, a husky groan. Every nuzzle and feverous wash makes my skin jolt as if struck by electricity. This body feels alive with energy and coiled like a spring that she continued to wind.

Fervently, I carry my jaw to blaze a hot trail of teeth against her thigh, teasing, taunting those nerves to sing. Her skin seemed to spark, a tantalizing mix of lava and quartz. Stepping forward, my wing extends just enough to maintain contact, ghosting over her steaming skin. The surface beneath those pinions is sweltering despite the cool of night. Ivories lower possessively to her croup, leaving a careful love bite, absent intentional pain.

I pull away then, my chin lowers -- urgently striking the gemmed collar around my breast. There was a mechanical 'click,' and steel fell away, thumping unceremoniously to earth, where it lay glittering harmlessly in the faint light. For the first time in a long while, the full length of rigid muscles running from shoulder to breast is revealed. Beneath layers of fur and flesh there was a rampant pulsing, though tis not the uncertain skipping of a fledgling, but the steady rhythm of a man.

@[Africa]

Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold

The forest around them seemed to murmur quietly, and the wind – with breath as soft as silk – whispered so delicately of brave passion, born from the pits of fathomless grief. Midas had suffered many times over. He had been forsaken in love, death haunted his steps like the memory of former happiness, and the one-winged mare had not forgotten the commitment to follow; the care needed to tend the brittle relics of his heart. They were like crustaceans. With each journey from one stage of growth to the next, they needed to shed a defensive shell; to be left exposed and vulnerable — but also embryonic again; able to stretch in marvellous ways they hadn't known before.

Even despite the growing ache of her body, the longing shuddering constantly down her dappled spine, there was resolve, protectiveness, etched into the fine features of her ash-grey face. I will never fly away, a sigh quivered into the silent midnight forest surrounding their little glade.

Maybe it had been his affections craved alone, all this time.

Scarlet, smouldering, feverish passion - it swept like a tsunami through body and soul, igniting every nerve beneath the thin blanket of dappled hair. Chin lifted helplessly a soundless cry towards the heavens as the weight of blunt teeth raked the searing flesh of her thigh. As wind swirled and cooled the blanket of sweat beneath his unfurled wing, lips dropped like a feather, softly to the coiled brawn above his hock. Glazed eyes fluttered open for a moment, roused from stupor by his grip above her hips; in response lashes sealed tight again and pressed near, close into the flinch of his powerful haunches.

Lazy ears noticed the thud of steel upon the loam, and turned vaguely. As blazing breath returned, spewing over her taut tingling hide, thick threads of ebony tail flirted dangerously through the air, kissing restless knees as they ventured nearer, and the soft