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When the fourth addition to the emotional party appeared, Lana burst out from the grip of fuss surrounding her. They met head on only a very small distance from the body of the group, and again hugs and fondness were exchanged. To Africa it seemed as though she had quite inconveniently (no matter how unintentional), placed herself in the midst of an aftershock of sorts, following some abhorrent incident which had recently taken place. She tightened the clasp of her wings, so that they hugged her barrel a little closer.
Then quite shockingly, Kri (Lana had named her) lifted her voice above the rest. She seemed angry, like she had heard enough. Africa balked away from the suddenness of the yell, quickly noting that the mare did not appreciate the frilly, verbose attitude which had seized hold of the proceedings. She was intimidated certainly, it was unavoidable, and was inwardly relieved not to be the focus of her aggravation- that poor snivelling stallion. Perhaps, the grey horse pondered secretly, she would avoid Kri after this meeting, and whatever profession the chocolate coloured mare held here in the Throat, Africa would probably busy herself with just the opposite. Kri then switched the clearly unimpressed focus of her attention to the black filly, Lana and quickly on to Aryel again, when the (according to Africa) friendliest of the group began to speak. Africa was surprised by the blue roan’s strikingly submissive stance, and she wondered if Kri was actually a figure of authority; a ‘boss’ she mused with a childish tinge to the thought. The rough twisting of sand-laced wind about her unyielding presence could certainly have passed as an indicator for this.
Bemused by the passionate rollercoaster of feelings the grey interloper grew increasingly uncomfortable, her tail twitching nervously as the turn of events was revealed at length by Aryel. Africa felt as though she was in violation of some unspoken code of confidentiality, the concept of prisoners, and battles for their freedom bubbling new surreal images through her simple, untouched mind. She felt herself shrinking backwards, her hind legs sinking slightly as the sand slipped from around the rearward shift of her bulk. She wished not to be rude or to relinquish this unexpected (and inappropriately exciting) opportunity to learn, so would not take leave altogether. Instead she moved very subtly to maybe hold a less prominent position between the chaotic flood of emotion charged conversation.
Kri spoke again, issuing a directive to the grullo stallion with tear stained silver eyes, and Aryel. Her ears flicked forward with renewed, intrigued interest at the mention of Midas and a fond yet properly subdued smile broke the serious glaze across her face. Midas! Had the gravity of the situation not matured her so considerably, Africa might have chimed in at that moment, declaring with bright enthusiasm and belonging that she knew the stallion. Instead she remained quiet, curious as to whom Kri referred to as “...that lying sleazebag who wears a crown...” It seemed that Helovia was truly as interesting as her mother had decorated it to be.
All at once Kri turned, alighting into the air, and Africa was disappointed to realise she had missed the leaders parting sentence. She shuffled awkwardly on the spot, unsure whether it was time to split, or linger a little longer, should something actually be required of her.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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![[Image: 515b833f251f3]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/515b833f251f3)
