Something peculiar happened as Africa’s trembling jaw slipped from the sleek ash pelt of her enemy’s lean belly. She jolted to a halt, shaking, stricken by the agony of the crippling blow dealt to her - by sheer confusion and the unfolding horror of the night around them. Gruesome groans, the harrowing voice of this conflict, rose through the typically tranquil ambience of Hidden Falls, her home. The humble blood of her family had been spilt, staining their beloved sanctuary, but for what? The unicorns of the north were heartless, bloodthirsty and racist - this invasion served to confirm that truth. Especially in the mind of the broken grey Pegasus.
 
Blood-shot eyes swerved left, right… left, rolling blindly as her pounding skull swung heavily like good weight upon a string. There was no retaliation this time, no flash of cunning white beside her - wicked, cruel. Africa barely knew what to do anymore. The lower-arm of the wing clenched against her side, throbbed and ached as its splintered, bleeding end dangled and wobbled in limbo - it was excruciating, and the medic’s head soon began to spin. Thick crimson pooled across the soil she had sworn to protect, been blessed to heal, and she swayed woozily above it, searching vaguely, numbly for the Basin creature around her.  
 
“Silas..” she stammered, reaching desperately through their bond for his whereabouts, but the Roc could not answer - could not save her.
 
Still the other mare did not return, and Africa stumbled through the darkness like a lost lamb, helpless, searching for something… “Midas!” she cried achingly, hurling bitter melancholy into the moaning night. Where was he?
 
Trapped… she remembered grimly, angrily, grinding together her teeth down upon her tongue. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth, snared her attention, and for a moment her glazed eyes cleared enough to see the retreated mare clothed in feather and thick-shadow, some distance away. What was happening? A sharp snort ripped past sooty nostrils and bloody-spittle sprayed crudely to the front. Africa’s knee flung forward belligerently, worn hoof striking harshly the muddy earth, and her long, (now) haggard face reeled through the air beneath wild, whirling flame. She wanted to scream at Arah, but only scarlet saliva foamed across her wounded tongue. Hot, burning tears spewed from her gentle doe-eyes and soon their awareness began to cloud once again.
 
Arah’s blurring figure crept forward then with such seemingly slow precision and care that the Starry-Eyed’s nerves began to spark vicious waves of anticipation beneath her taught, dappled coat. Filthy stockinged-forelegs thrust a few strides in reverse, but the limp half of her wing swung hideously against the right, and pain again shocked through her mind, core - soul. Though long smoky ears wavered nervously through the fire across her poll, Africa offered no hint of trust to the enemy; the other continued, gazing… confusing. Fuzzy eyes danced wearily, reluctantly, from one side of the paler mare’s face to the other - towards the bloodstained rack upon her head, and beyond, to the distant winking stars outside heaven.
 
So enchanting, so brilliant and beautiful were those glimmering golden eyes though - the soft melody spilling through her thoughts - that the tiring, injured medic could not avoid their hold. She sank quickly into their mellow midst, and almost felt warmth embrace her, sooth the ache in her fractured heart. “Midas…” she whispered beneath her breath, slipping trembling lips forward as though to meet his soft, familiar whiskers. “We need you, please… please help us!” her plea was low, barely a hum upon Orangemoon’s mild breath.

But she withdrew quickly, suddenly, as the piercing black pupils of another gazed earnestly back - “Imposter!” Africa choked fretfully, striking out in defence with both her chipped left hoof and once more, snapping, pearly incisors.

The magic flowing through Arah’s endearing gaze had already secured its grip however; her mind had been whispering carefully, reminding, and Africa could almost visualise that horrid scene on the Basin’s doorstep. “Yes…” she sighed, struggling to make sense of the chaos in her head - she was sure though, the white dove before her had tried to stop Deimos, all those many moons ago. “To Midas?” she asked hazily, shrinking away from the other as view of bloodied silver drew her eye. “…but I thought…” The whole time, the crippled mare had been so certain the Basin were attacking.
 
Another voice rose above the delicate hymn however, it was weak, stressed - ‘Lies beloved, this is a trap!’
 

---

 
788/800 (Apple’s pages)
2/3
 
Summary:
Africa strikes out with hoof and teeth as Arah approaches, but ultimately she is fooled by the magic.
 
Magic:
None…