It had been a task put off for too long. Bits and pieces, items once treasured and cherished, lay scattered across the grassy embankment by the stream outside her den. Among the rubbish was the broken, fossilised figure of a three year old star fish that once had been splashed with vivid colour (now bleached and plain); there was a holey shell, spiked and unusual, but most of the spines lining its rim had been snapped away; there were three bruised, black cherry blossom flowers that she had intended to have crystallised for her friends, Rei and Nasreen and placed on chains to wear (they were part eaten); the speck remains of the withered slug she had forgotten about from World’s Edge (and she cringed a little, guilt stinging her conscience) - in a poor attempt to contest the feeling her thoughts whispered to Silas, well I bet you’re glad you feed yourself?

Eyes were filled with sorrow as they looked across the relics and remains – she had loved them, but apparently not enough to ensure their safety. I need a box. she mused, glancing away and stepping forward to brush each item into the stream and away. A cart... the watching zephyr answered mockingly (though in jest), but Africa loved the idea. Yes! That’s a grand idea! As the shell vanished into the hungry water, Africa turned to the glossy black bird where he roosted patiently in a tree. I suppose we will need wood. Do you think vines might hold it together?

The zephyr hummed thoughtfully. No...

Oh, alright then... What about wheels? Gaze turned vaguely to the trees, the grass, the sky. She pulled to the front of her mind the slim memory of the cart she had seen with Resplendence’s garden the few times she had visited.

She sighed heavily, resigning to the fact that such a feat was probably too ambitious. A chest would be nicer anyway... we could decorate it with stones from the Heart.

They had wasted an enormous amount of time already though that day, and duty called (forever). It was time to make their thrice weekly journey to the Threshold and search for the forlorn and lost, offer the rest and refuge. Lean stockinged forelegs drew her north at a brisk pace, and Silas glided after her, riding thermals higher and higher into the sky. The weather was revoltingly hot, sweat stained her pelt and she was rasping for fresher air even before they had ventured as far as the entrance – she paused, neck bowed and gave herself long enough to recover. Her condition had deteriorated of late, the one-winged mare could not understand why, and her energy was slipping far quicker than she thought it ought to.

Ok... Africa readied herself, drew a breath and began to climb the path which carved a winding route through the side of the cliffs above (and then down to the doorway behind the waterfall) – carefully, with the roar of the tumbling water growing nearer, she cleared distance. As she slipped through water however, and out the other side, a scene which she had little expected was unfolding. Midas was collapsed across the knotted roots of a tree, and a worried cried leaked from fluttering nostrils as she danced forward to help him. “What’s going on? What happened to you?” Confusion and concern engulfed her both physically and mentally, but as she called frantically for Earth’s vines, they flailed around without direction. Lips lowered to brush the forelock from his golden eyes, though they were closed regardless, and she hummed gently as she cast a swift scan by the rest of his body – it seemed to her to be unscathed!

She hovered indecently above the fallen stallion, bewildered and frightened by the lack of reason in eye. Both fathomless golden pools fluttered open suddenly, wide, though it seemed as though his sight were numb – to her, to the gloriously bright day around them and the small distance remaining from the border to their home. She wanted to whisper, to draw him from oblivion’s distance, but there was a chilling, almost haunting despondency about him.

Africa shuffled nearer, caressing the silken threads of his black mane where they slumped between his ears. Each breath was short and sharp as she struggled subtly to stir him into the present, but it was all in vain and he seemed to slip further with each second passing them by. Grim eyes lifted towards the sprawling timber arms above – Fina’s smouldering form stood by, stunned it seemed, so unusually silent. Neve was with her, and her own companion (a vivid contrast to them both) had alighted across a branch nearby.

What’s going... the one-winged mare began to ask desperately through the bond that united them, but a stranger’s voice broke her thought – the silence – and her gaze tumbled instantly to find the stallion flinching horribly. Anger grew suddenly; it was ripe through his sunk posture, tone, and it frightened the helpless mare. She watched on feebly with crawling skin as he spoke on, convinced perhaps that there was another with them, but all she could do was touch him occasionally to see if his illusion had weakened.

It was difficult to determine if he was conscious or...

The dappled mare knew him as nothing but demure, loyal and fashioned with morals even to rival the strength of her own, but the words that fell from Midas’ tongue in that moment caused her blood to curdle and her bowels to twist - ‘I’ll kill ye.’

“Wake up, please!” she called, a fear in her voice that echoed right through her trembling core. “Wake... Midas...” Tender breath stroked feverishly about his fallen face and ears, travelling along the length of his onyx-black neck until the cold metal collar slung snug about his shoulders broke the smooth. In a last bid attempt to pull him free of the invisible prison – she could see it no other way – Africa sank mercifully her blunt incisors into the damp, taught sinew wrought through his neck.

Though the assault was meant for the better and lack any true weight, she recoiled swiftly to evade the rise of any reprimand which might in turn follow.