She perched by the northern entrance to her home - the battlefield, now lost, and stained by the blood of their family. Healers, Resplendence and Alysanne (both mares once thought well of) had summoned the wounded to their care and the irony of that double-edged courtesy struck the frail parrot-mare to the bone. Africa watched with twisting, bitter thoughts as morning spilt new light through the land which looked so alien after all of it. The Earth God had betrayed his dearest follower - or so was her perspective. Midas had loved and served Him faultlessly, faithfully, above all else in this world. It was the cruelest treason, and her her heart ached terribly for the hurt which would no doubt consume her lover, upon his return.

“They can have Him…” she whispered grimly into the cool wind.

Silas had flown ahead to scout the borderline ahead before his weary, wounded beloved fell upon it. They could not know what the conniving creatures of the north were planning, still. Arah had portrayed their dishonesty perfectly, the truth of their hideous nature, and both the Roc and his bonded were suspicious. Though the stench of the butchery behind him was as thick across the region as salt was upon the coast, the immaculate northern brim of Hidden Falls suggested nothing but the purity which had been since its creation - the Windtossed Foothills had long been dead in their world. It was with a grieving heart that he climbed between the draped vines, the whistling roses and the old-world trees; they were so beautiful, but so damaged all the same by the heinous act delivered upon the soil that fed them.

What would become of them from this point, of those true souls who did indeed follow the Gallant and the Cadaverous…

There was movement ahead, by the base of the old mountain across whose jagged peak lay the open field once fought across for Africa’s safety. Sharp violet eyes narrowed carefully toward the dark figures - slow shadows lurking beyond the cusp. He cared not to worry the mind of his resting beloved some meters back, and slipped from one canopy the the high, gnarled arms of another even closer. He knew not the face of the black Unicorn stallion - but the manner of his lingering did not help to ease growing distrust. There was another though with him, the mare who had been stolen - Essetia… A wary rumble resonated through the flared breast of the watching bird and his keen gaze dropped to the peculiar contraption beside which they stood.

It was a cart - of sorts - not that Silas had ever before seen anything of its kind; nor did he particularly care for its existence. His eyes found the slumped shell of another and right away he felt a vice like grip choke his throat. With panic rising, he began to search for the flighted figures of Fina (his affection) and the child, Neve. Without thinking, he let a shrill call through the air - only the moan of wind slipping from the range above returned an answer. Thoughts whirled through his mind, and he could no more resist their spread than control his own heating temper. The Roc swooped from his timber perch and his warning scream echoed wildly around them.

Black lashes spread suddenly, revealing the panic in the golden eyes beneath.

’Silas?' she whispered nervously, silently.

There was silence following the strident cry of her bonded; a deceptive tranquility that seemed almost as unnerving as the melancholy in her mind. Though she was tired regardless, and filled with despondence; her gut throbbed excruciatingly and the mangled bone in the wing of the underlying form, Africa could feel the growing storm of bleak blackness through the connection shared with the Zephyr. His eyes were well shielded, every effort made could not penetrate the world which they saw, and that only worried her more. Trembling and with very little strength to draw from, the grey-feathered parrot fell forward through the jungle ahead. “Rah-Rah!” her rough avian voice threw to the wind, ‘Silas, answer me!’

She came upon them as the last ounce of her vigour was failing and to the earth she fell like an old leaf from the sky.

’Please,’ she begged as burning tears began to flow - the magic began to churn through her core. Her puny frame began to shake before the small crowd gathered, and Silas paused protectively above her with wings beating steadily, deliberately. The day began to slow around the couple - dignity the bird could at least provide - and by the time his grip released, she was standing hunched and injured awfully, by the front of the strange trolley-like machine. Blood leaked on from the lance-wound by her bowel, and still the broken wing swung disturbingly, limply to her right. Neither however, seemed to amount to the agony which seized her so suddenly, as her reddened eyes fell upon the defiled shell of her mate.

“What…?” she breathed wretchedly, achingly, as she hesitated before him. ..’happened?’ So terrible was the pain of her thoughts in that moment, that she could barely keep from falling to the grass. Frightened, quivering lips reached forward, ghosting above the cold hard surface of the platform - they touched timidly the lifelessness that possessed him, and recoiled again startled, as the reality unfolding sank in. “He is dead…” she revealed pointlessly, for the sake of herself, for Silas - this stranger, Essetia, already surely knew that fact. Cold, harrowed eyes turned to the familiar mare and there was unquestionable blame pooling through her expression; they switched abruptly to the stallion.

“How… could you?” she choked, devastated, blinded by the hot flurry of water in her eyes.

She knew not where the bronze-eyed creature had come from in truth, but it didn’t take much to guess - both her lover and Essetia had been taken (cunningly) before this heinous assault, the ruin played out in the territory behind. “Is it not enough for your kind to destroy lives…” Africa was angry. His despicable herd had taken everything from her - almost… “Why are you so mean?” She asked, tone dead flat, eyes flaming as the rage beneath spewed up through her tattered body. “Why do you hate us so much, really?” Africa knew they were racists, knew the hearts beating beneath the warm flesh of their breasts was as hard and cold as the stone mountain standing above - they were as artificial as the contraption Midas was draped upon.

Though it pained her even to look upon the face of her sister in that moment, Africa needed respite. Her raw, burning eyes turned to study the face of the other mare before returning. “It was good of you to give him back.” she whispered, grateful at least for such a small mercy in this perpetual war. Stark eyes rose to find his, and they were narrowed, suspicious because those he dwelt beside were expert performers - brilliant in fact. “Thank you.” They were like a ’plague’ infecting every last crevice of this continent…