The sun’s energy was already searing as it sank in luminous shafts between patchwork gaps in the northern forest’s lofty canopy- minute particles of dust, and mould spores danced languidly in their limelight. Far below, where ferns bathed happily in the musky darkness and vines began their arduous voyage upwards along old weathered hosts, the air was warm and thick with an old dampness. Mildew clung to the scattering of rocks and withered litter of leaves across the forest floor and the soil was rich and supple beneath the industrious tread of a young grey horse.

The energised Africa was ripe after many years fermenting under the blanket of herd-life (to a young, eager and sheltered filly three years was too many lost). As feeble as she might have appeared to such a hostile and foreign world, the young horse stepped from her long, solitary journey with the tireless determination of youth.

As that breeze licked through the fresh leafy awning edging this halfway-house to where she had been shepherded, Africa stepped for the first time at liberty; without rule or responsibility, and her great heart pounded with brilliant excitement. He wide cream eyes were saturated by the spread of diversity before her- she had come from a simpleton’s life, or so she had thought, and they sparkled curiously, bathing in Tallsun’s unforgiving radiance.

And so there she was, ready to commit to a new way of life. Still dainty and unscathed hooves, stepped with childlike confidence (no matter how arrogant her ambition), amongst those who sought placement and refuge.

Naturally, though still lacking any real form of experience, Africa would have assumed that choosing a central spot in the thickly wooded forest’s split would have fetched her greater response and attention from the many travellers therein. Perhaps she was foolish for parading herself in such barefaced fashion, but she gave her actions little forethought, and certainly had forgotten the grave teachings of her mother; survival and other trivial matters that a child has little if any reasoning to understand.

Many horses moved around her as the minutes, and then the hours fluttered by- a sea of brilliant and befuddling diversity churned around her, and Africa’s (perhaps exorbitant) morale, began to fracture. The young impatient horse fidgeted where she had taken position on a small hillock about midway between the surrounding forest fringes. She could see quite well about her, and watched with dismay as a multitude of horses (predominantly mares like herself she noted loosely) found their way into the clearing with her, only to surrender to the wild fairy tale promise of kings and princesses; queens and knights. Africa had come from a simpleton life; peasant maybe- such where stallions collected a harem of mares... and that was life. She knew nothing of this but the whispering romance of her mother’s aging voice, as she lulled her daughter into slumber; famous legends of grandiose kingdoms; and in particular it had always been the thrill of treason and blood thirst that captured her imagination.

A soft warm breeze tousled the thick pad of forelock draped limply across the sloping white bridge of her nose. Velvety smooth nostrils, and long sensitive whiskers quivered with unrelenting excitement and Africa was overwhelmed by the barrage of strange scent offered. It was a pleasant enough day, and the sun had neared its climax; high and hot, and the grey horse ruffled the interlocking sheen of feathers which dressed her wings. The soothing rays saturated the shadowy grey skin beneath and the full expanse of her hide prickled with pleasure.

A soft sound sought her attention suddenly (perhaps she had been basking in solitude long enough not to expect it), peeling confidently through the crowding hum of other conversations. Africa turned to find its owner progressing quickly at her rear. She did not hide her astonishment as their faces met (her eyes were swift to locate the strange creature sitting comfortably atop the pinnacle of his sloping shoulder), and momentarily she was dumbfounded. The young horse undoubtedly would develop her social skills as she matured and adapted into life, but having come from a rather sheltered upbringing she, for the time being was primitive- a clean, undeveloped slate.

The moments passed too quickly as Africa scrambled to find her thoughts, and finally she replied, “Hello”, lightly; struck with awkwardness and sudden fear. She smiled outwardly, offering the stallion the only grace and coolness she could muster. “As does your companion...” She exclaimed, realising that she could not focus on anything other.

“Forgive me.” Africa asked politely, after stealing the spare seconds between exchanges to gather herself properly, and she smiled humbly-“I have not seen one before.”

The stallion seemed to slide through Africa’s bumbling with the smoothness of silk unbothered by her blatant ignorance, and she found a reflection of his tolerant grin curling into her own charcoal maw. The pinched muscles throughout her sinewy, stocky body loosened marginally and an ease of mind swelled to settle her fraying nerves. Still though, an element of anticipation murmured constantly as the throbbing adrenaline fuelled pulse within her ears, and Africa felt an intermittent tremble, ricocheting wildly down the length of her spine. She marvelled as the creature seemed to smoulder where it perched. Yet the stallion never flinched or suffered by touch, and he spoke like it were a burr twisted into his black then white, mane; nothing out of the ordinary at all. Africa was spellbound. Surely this was the magic which stained rumour and gossip in this bustling field.

Soon enough, his gentle voice drew Africa’s wandering attention from its lock on the creature. She blinked quietly as her eyes travelled back to meet his, restoring the ailing moisture (they had been gazing inelegantly for too long on such a warm day). It was then she noticed his eyes were... different. Midas introduced himself and Dragon’s Throat (a place that was obviously, but it meant little to the young horse at that point in time). The smile had not yet fallen from her whiskered lips, and it widened a little before she spoke- she was trying to return eye contact, but search as she might, her own pale stare found naught but a core-less golden depth. Trepidation gripped her beating heart and she spoke quickly, dabbling back into reality, maybe to find any sort of sense in this obscure land. “I am Africa.” Her voice was gentle, but the insecurity lacing it struck the wafting silence harshly, not at all how Africa hoped to be perceived. Even she knew that the time would come and she would better understand this world; this was not that time, nor was Midas the teacher.

The creature stirred, and this time Africa offered it only a fleeting glance. “Midas?” She continued, in a manner that was indeed too trusting; and most certainly overly forward. Africa was untouched by the pain of cruelty. She was unspoilt; unquestioning. “I know nothing of Helovia.” Africa fidgeted awkwardly; her mouth seemed to have lost all grace and dexterity. There was a strange prickling in her skin across the elbow of her wing, and the grey mare was powerless as she turned in an instant, to pluck a faultless grey feather. The feather was released and twirled downward, wedging itself in a thick grass tussock. She returned to Midas and continued thoughtfully, “I mean to say, I am sure you have much more important business to attend...” (in fact, she imagined him to be of the most significant there was- he was splendid) “...I am hoping to study, something...” She divulged, the sentence trailing off mind you, because Africa could not place what it was she sought to learn. Everything she supposed, but should have liked not to sound too foolish before her company.

[No hassle :) I am always wondering when mine is going to evaporate. Sorry I keep changing pictures and tables :P I think Im settled now...]

Midas reassured Africa that her understanding of Helovia would grow (like a seed planted in her mind- or so, that is how she followed), and she was soothed like the thick downy fur between skin and a brutal winter night. Perhaps it was simply fear of the unknown which simmered the undertone of her softly spoken, credulous voice- she was afraid and excited; thoroughly energized by their conversation and the unexpected security which the stallion seemed to radiate. She listened willingly, with erect, pointed ears and now, her light curious eyes did not part from him. As the seconds peeled past them, Africa grew more confident in her ambition; more at peace with her decision to leave home and find this brave new world.

Still the hot sun glowed unremittingly, and without interruption. The two horses had been standing there immersed in Tallsun’s intensity, chatting for some time and sweat began to seep through Africa’s sleek thinned coat in long blackened streaks. She flicked her tail twice heedlessly, more or less unmoved by the festering warmth of the day; she was engrossed in the conversation at hand- a stepping stone maybe into the future of her dreams.

Midas reached out to Africa, and his lips brushed along the crest line of her neck. Although his mild gesture wasn’t sudden and did not upset her, the mare automatically lowered her face, inadvertently portraying to him that she was both humble and well natured- deep down the modest horse hoped that she would be the right candidate for his family, living in a Dragon’s Throat (such a name was not forgotten by the gullible heart so fast- imagine the adventures!). And then, Midas offered to Africa his home; and a simple taste of true family.

The young mare’s eyes beamed at the proposition, she did manage however to hold her composure (practice makes perfect, and Midas seemed to eliminate her clumsiness; or it found no place in his shadow), and offered an enthusiastic smile to unmistakably accept his invitation. “Thank you.” Her voice was still tinged with light apprehension; it seemed unavoidable because Africa was not a brave soul. So many questions seemed to rise and swarm through her thoughts at that moment, but the young grey did not dither, instead dutifully addressing Midas’s next question. That was easy, and she answered too quickly and freely- “I am interested in most everything Helovian...” (But that was not what the stallion asked and Africa blushed at her mistake) “...In particular magic, I think.” Even if it wasn’t exactly what the stallion had meant, to the young mare, nothing held more mystery or attraction than magic itself. There were so many elements in her mother’s wonderful stories though, and nothing seemed dull.