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Herbs... she reminded herself firmly, pulling pastel eyes from the thrilling arc of bright blue beyond the northern stretch of Threshold forest canopy. We are here for herbs. She lowered her thin wrinkled lips to rummage determinedly through the old carpet of withered leaves and dried, empty pine cones, but barely minutes later her chin had lifted again into the air.
There was longing in the sun-kissed glint of her eye, an irrepressible melancholy that often leaked to the surface of her soul on glorious days like these. How terribly she missed riding the thermal highways to heaven, stalling; plunging with reckless abandon in steep spirals back towards the patchwork earth below. Even if by some miracle a new wing grew (hesitantly she thought of the God of the Sun), she had not the condition any longer for flight. White legs - clean white stockings pulled smartly to the knee – and those charcoal-grey to the rear were wrought now with the strength of the wingless; fashioned by gravity to traipse rolling hills and fields of green.
Elegant frame was rounded now with sinew which could serve only to weigh her brethren down and though grim her reality was, it was a mental wound that no longer tortured her so brutally – nay, with help, the Starry-Eyed had recovered well.
As she gazed vaguely, affectionately, between the rugged awning of red-wood and green, Silas descended into her world of shadow upon wings that shimmered to life with the glitter of a trillion stars. He was a creature of the night, elusive by nature, and more fond of the dark forest floor than she could ever dream to be...
Hopeless....
A soft giggle fell from smiling lips as they turned to welcome his landing in the dip of her dappled spine. Briefly they beak and whisker brushed. I can’t help it, she shrugged, sighing heavily as she sought again the tiny sprouts curling out from beneath their warm blanket. One uncoiled as she moved delicately the litter across it, and tenderly she took it from the ground. I don’t even know what these are called; it could be grass you know... Africa knew well that it was not, and she placed it into the satchel by her left elbow – hopefully the slug living within had filled to the brim already on the overripe strawberries stashed earlier.
A lone cloud slipped across the sun and a chill prickled through her coat. Lean legs pulled her body into a long striding walk, tracing the faint line of an old goat track between the dense trees. Silas lifted his wings a little to ride his beloved’s rocking gait. I haven’t the patience for this, Silas... not today. Let’s see if we can find a traveller instead. Lashes fluttered curiously as her ashen face turned hither and thither, looking for any sign that company lingered nearby.
Perhaps towards the middle of the forest (she had traversed it many times before), Africa paused hesitantly – a smaller horse than she stood motionlessly ahead. Sooty ears tipped forward though one strayed quickly back to its cover of writing flame. Carefully she called out, tone mellow like first morning light. “Hello? Are you lost over there?” The stranger was bathed in murk, thick shadow, and the one-winged mare dared not venture closer until confident that no threat loomed – she was not keen for an encounter like that recently with the roan stallion.
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