For her entire life, Africa had been plagued by wild, untameable emotion and these always, had been worn helplessly for the whole world to see - well now they were gone. Her long pale skull swung barely clear of the rolling earth beneath, there was no energy left in her soul, no strength in her bones. She was broken, both in spirit and in body, and moved only through the consuming, fog of her depression now for the sake of the daughter she and her lover had brought into the misery of this world. Somewhere ahead, hidden beneath shadowy claws and the stench of decay, little Zahra was waiting - probably half starved, cold and frightened. Though all she wanted to do was drown, throw aching life from the tallest cliff available, the dappled mare could not bear to think of the child so loved, simply withering away by the had of her mother’s neglect. No. Midas would not have his beloved babe abandoned so cruelly. For the sake of them both she ventured through a long week, south, stewing in her wretchedness and her impassable self loathing.

There was one chance left… and so desperately did she miss him, that the concept seemed not nearly as ridiculous as (in truth) it was. She was a shell of the blooming creature which had been. A leaf, hardly alive, drifting along the bleak winds of desperation.

Silas followed her wanderings slowly, silently and sombrely from above. He knew well the pain that consumed her - it chipped relentlessly at his strength and resolve also. It had been nearly a week since he had been able to penetrate the gloom of her thoughts and he worried awfully for her. The blackness that had swallowed her that Frostfall in the Basin when first they had met, paled in comparison to the worthlessness and grief gripping her now. She was sicker than he could ever remember her being - and he suffered gravely in sympathy.

The Deep Forest loomed ahead, dim timber swaying as the cold breath of the impending evening raked through. Africa’s hollow gaze watched wearily and the lungs within expelled a heavy sigh.

Perhaps the foal was already dead…

“Zahra…” her shattered, hoarse voice called out. This was a hopeless endeavour. I will find her, the faithful companion soothed sadly, settling for only a second or two upon her sullied, wasting rump. The Roc preened from amidst dried blood and mud, a sharp twig before opening his glittery wings to leave the mare standing, burning, where the trees began to thicken. As night time fell like monsoon rain about her, Africa huddled against the hard bark of one gnarled old fig. While she waited, eyes closed, shallow breath whispering by pinched nostrils, a plan began to take shape in her twisted, hazy mind - she would travel north, tonight, and find that wretch who had arrived upon the Falls’ doorstep as her lover. She wanted to see him, to feel the warmth of his living breathing body, one last time - to her, in that inescapable pit of agony, the plan seemed entirely plausible.

Eyes ignited with ravenous, perverted excitement. Yes…

They began to search for a place to hide the possessions entrusted to her - to Zahra, and fell quickly upon a large warren. The hole was deep, black, vanishing into the earth below and hastily she piled the items in. They would be safe, she thought brazenly, rashly, and in the same moment the Zephyr returned with the frail looking foal trailing behind. “Zahra…” she choked as fresh boiling tears welled in her eyes. The girl looked so much like her father and it pained Africa enormously to see. “I love you.” she whispered, pressing her dry, whiskered nose against her daughter’s scrawny neck. Then she turned to the hole, stiffened and continued, “So much has happened. Terrible things.

Zahra, we mustn't return to Hidden Falls. Not until your body's grown and your thoughts have matured. It's no longer the home you know. Look, here…” with a heavy hoof lifted, she directed the filly’s attention towards the hole in the ground. “These... they are yours. We'll return for them in the weeks to come. May they remind your young heart of love, and happier times; may your mind be lightened as you wear them. Your Da would not have them bring upon you the weight of sorro…” The beaten mare’s voice cracked and she swallowed hard the rising bubble of sadness in her throat. Before working to cover Midas’ items with leaves and branches, Africa let her young daughter feed until the last trickle of her milk ran dry.

Hours later, she was pushing the tired trio north through Thistle Meadow - destined for the frozen tip of Helovia.

You follow the sparkling black blur of your mother’s bonded Roc, as he leads safely through the winding maze of old, creaking trees. Night has dropped like a blanket across your shoulders, but with Silas nearby (at last) your nerves do not fray - so terribly. As you walk, slowly, but as quickly as your famished frame can manage, you think of the days past, those that you have spent in this vast wilderness without your mother or your father close at hand. “Have got a best friend…” you tell the gliding bird quietly; you whisper into the creeping shade about you. There is a sombreness about him that is unsettling, your skin crawls and you smile brightly, charmingly, eager to break through the mood. “Ze-ro (you continue hopefully), “…‘as just a wing. Like Ma!” Though you can’t truly see him, his eyes and unflinching expression within them, you can feel that your efforts have been entirely in vain.

“Bird!”

You have the determination of one who has never been tried, you are relentless and you blind enthusiasm is overbearing. Your sister nestled once more against your spine (between your clenched wings’ bristly young feathers) wriggles, touched to the core by your effort, and finally you attract the Zephyr’s attention. He swings down from the ceiling of the forest and flutters briefly before you, clacking is strange avian beak. The puppy lifts her head from rest curiously - she has a full stomach, thanks to the grown ups who helped her - and glowing green eyes examine the hovering starlight. Another smile pulls at the corners of your clean, young mouth but you notice yet again that he is not himself. It worries you, troubles you, and you gaze forward imploringly as though he might at any moment break into song and reveal his thoughts.

He did no such thing however, and you can barely bury your disappointment when he slips from your reach, away again through the wind.

‘…don’t know?’ you hum quietly to Bird afterwards, presuming she asked you about the growing tension (of course she would have). You are bothered, that much is obvious - and you have not realised yet that she feels just what you do.

Perhaps an hour later, a flickering firelight snares your wandering attention and you know immediately that you mother waits just ahead. “Ma!” you shriek excitedly, wholly realising that the hungry growl in your stomach - the ache alongside it - will soon be no more. “Ma! Ma… It’s Ma, Bird! Knobbly knees unleash as you bound towards your mother, drawing energy from the adrenaline which quickly floods your veins. It has been many days since you saw her last, since you suckled. But there is something about her that startles you to a halt, even before you are within distance of drinking in that deliciously, milky fragrance she owns. She is huddled against a tree, hunched and smeared with colours not all own. Your eyes examine her carefully as you stand trembling nearby, tiny face lifted, ears pricked forward; thoughts whirling wildly in confusion.

The voice which greets you is a shadow of the mother you know, it is forlorn and weak, and you realise quickly that she had been hurt physically, terribly. The one wing she holds swings in the wind so revoltingly that you cannot bear to settle your gaze upon it, so too is she cloaked in a hideous aroma - blood - and your stomach seems to flip in your abdomen. 'What’s happened' your thoughts cry in place of your speechless tongue. She steps from her crutch towards you and you can’t help but bristle firstly; but soon enough the warmth of adoration spills from her touch and you cave, melting into her, into your the creature who is is one half of your universe - your sanctuary. She speaks, though you struggle to understand her meaning, and your paper-thin nostrils flap concernedly. Something is very wrong…

“Ma…” you cry wistfully, with your face leaning in perplexed fashion to one side. But she seems not to hear you, her tone is filled to the brim with melancholy and you waver beneath the weight of her stress. She directs you towards a hole in the ground - and inside it silver glints beneath the glow of firelight. You do not understand… cannot quite work out what lies hidden. Your mother is distracted though, she insists that you feed. You do so ravenously, unabashedly, tail wagging all the while your stomach fills. So warm is her milk, so fully does it satisfy you, that you barely notice its end. Unfortunately grief has taken a toll on the wretched creature standing above you - perhaps you will never truly understand.

She begins hurriedly to lay branches, leaves, litter - everything - across the gaping hole and at first you just stand, watching confusedly. What is going on? But the words don’t find your tongue, it is too late. Even as you drape a twig across her pile, she turns. You follow with the faithfulness of an immature, dependant heart, desperate to understand but without any capacity to fathom the thoughts churning through her mind. In silence you trail her north, Bird tucked snug and warm against your back.