Ilore's first reaction was one of delayed thought and instead of speech the pale mare just stood and cocked her head slightly to the side, curious yet unsure exactly what her eyes laid upon. Surly the figure was equine and femme... but with one major flaw. She had wings. Wings, of all things.

Ilore was nearly convinced, in fact, that she had stumbled into some hallucination from fatigue but came to the stark conclusion that she had not as soon as the other had spoken. Never, no matter how insane, would she imagine such a bubbly, bouncing thing. The mere thought was insulting. Ilore eyed the stranger, or Africa as she soon learned, warily, sizing the other mare and observing her critically. Youthful was the first thing that came to mind. No one of a wiser age behaved as she did nor as naive and innocent. Ilore could practically taste it on her tongue it was so palpable. She could have frowned but her face remained indifferent, determined not to give anything away. The more she dwelled on the winged one though, the less Ilore was convinced she posed any sort of threat but the mare kept her guard close all the same. At the very least Ilore was confident she could use her wit if it came to a conflict...but for the moment the mare was content to just go with the flow. Besides, there was a chance to learn something here. What else had she to do anyway?

Idly, the ghostly mare cast a glance up at the sky. Rain still poured in legions and water leaked from the thousand surrounding leaves above. Ilore took a step back to avoid a new stream that would have poured upon her head and watched as it fell into a puddle beside her. " No," the mare admitted, "but its perfect for ghosts and ghasts like myself."

Look down The ground below is crumbling Look up The stars are all exploding Thick tangles of heavy sodden mane matted against the bowed carriage of her elegant neck; and the narrow pinch of crest crawled high along the neck’s arching peak to form the poll between two cupped, black-rimmed ears, all of which were mostly hidden beneath the forward drape of dense, saturated grey forelock. Where normally the hair would curtain tastefully across her large creamy, almond shaped eyes, it clumped clumsily behind them, weighed down heavily by the rain. Little streams poured down through her forelock, and across the flat slope of her cheeks; likewise, water spurted to form a liquid beared from her chin, and still again as thin fountains from the tufts of hair dressing her pasterns. The downpour seemed relentless, and while saturated to the bone and shivering against the unavoidable chill in the sunless shade, Africa appreciated every drop as sustenance for her beloved flowers and plants. While her smile lingered; suspended in waiting as she studied the other horse for sign of reaction or expression, Africa shifted her weight to mask the discomfort budding beneath the pallid mare’s somewhat critical stare. Highly emotive, and of a naturally forthcoming nature, Africa found her thoughts squirming insecurely as the other mare’s indifference chewed through her gullible, and otherwise optimistic young mind. Don’t judge a book by its cover, she reassured herself silently blinking for a second to regroup the confidence which apparently was so easily discouraged. You are being over sensitive, she scolded, forcing still a brighter expression to lift the unfortunately sombre atmosphere. The sincerity of her gesturing seemed to do little to ease her company's somewhat, ridged posture. The other horse glanced heavenward, and naturally Africa’s pale eyes followed, squinting through thick black lashes at the bleak carpet of murky grey in her sky- or that which she could spot through the wilting, Autumn canopy and pines. She shrugged inwardly, and subconsciously fluffed the lace-work of feathers across her wings. Beads of rain sprayed from the waterproof sheen, glistening in the half-light. Africa lowered her face again to find the strange horse had already looked away. She was sidestepping and her eyes watched a cascade of water pool in the mud beside her hooves. Different, She pondered, briefly scanning the puddle also, before tracing the buttery hued mare’s mud-stained legs upwards to once more find her face. "No," Africa heard finally and her ears fluttered forward eagerly, though the response was short and she thought prematurely, indirect. "But it’s perfect for ghosts and ghasts like myself." The young grey’s withers flinched hesitantly, mostly unsure what to make of this rather peculiar creature. In all honesty, Africa had no idea what a ghast was and could not place any sort of understanding around its use in this instance. “Oh, I see...” She said cautiously, recalling Kri’s warning and shuffling subtly so that there was a fraction more distance separating them. Perhaps this ghast shares some affiliation with the Basin. Tilting her face with new caution, she peered sidewards at the ghast. She wasn’t intimidated so much as suspiciously confused. “Sooo,” She began again slowly, still staring sceptically through her right eye. “What brings you to Helovia’s border?” Africa really didn’t know how else to direct the path of the more or less, one-sided chat- her childlike perception certainly felt it to be that way. "Thinking. Speaking. Acting."

It took some effort to keep herself from wanting to walk away the longer this sudden encounter continued. The pale mare had a way of catching little flags that may indicate anothers' intentions, mood, or demeanor and whatnot, and more and more the impression of confusion and... uncertainty seemed to take prominence over her thoughts of Africa. It was easy enough to deduce after watching the subtle twitch of the younger mares withers and the ever so slight shuffle of her feet across the earth as she backed away, even if she hardly moved, only shifted.

Was the winged one frightened of her? No, was the disappointing conclusion Ilore came to as she studied the feathered one's gaze once more. If anything it was that odd sort of gaze people get when someone told a joke they didn't quite get and thought you strange for it, crippling your credibly. Perhaps her reference to ghosts and ghasts was mistaken? Was she one of those literal thinkers where everything had to be said as simple as could be or plain as it was? Perhaps those wings weren't as misplaced as Ilore had originally thought. It would explain why she seemed so bird-brained. Obviously Ilore was very much alive and made of flesh as any other despite her bony appearance and in no way believed herself to be supernatural. It was just a habit to associate herself with such things as most others seemed quite vehement on reminding Ilore of her likeness to them, as if that made her a monster. Ilore had just assumed this place was just the same but apparently not - or at least not with this individual.

It did not escape the pale mare's notice how Africa remained free of any outward expression of disgust, fear, or sympathy. Instead their was friendliness and a complete disregard of her appearance. Not even a cringe to be hidden or seen, but rather...amusement, if it was possible. That took some guts...or blind stupidity. Whatever the case, Ilore thought it best to refrain from using anymore loose terms of descriptions or anything....overly complicated lest it lead to more misunderstandings. That would make life easier for the both of them.

Mirroring the movements of t[/b]he young one before her Ilore cocked her head to the side, ignoring the sodden strands of mane that fell and looped over the curve of her face like webs, taking her turn to eye Africa with a suspicious look of her own after hearing a potentially interesting bit of information, but not rolling her eyes first.

" I didn't choose to come here but rain is a pretty good incentive to find somewhere. I have to say though that I've never heard of this.... Helovia, was it? Care to enlighten me?"

Look down The ground below is crumbling Look up The stars are all exploding Flicking her tail idly, the young dapple grey rocked her weight to the left and relaxed her right hoof at a chilled tilt. The flimsy golden brown autumn canopy above their heads offered little respite from the steady drum of rainfall, and Africa was more or less saturated. She remained optimistic though, despite the dreary grey atmosphere, and made a special point to display that openly across her snowy white complexion. The flicker of another caught her eye and one ear strayed to track the strange horse’s route through the dense clutter of trees not far away. The Threshold’s majestic forest was known throughout Helovia to be a bustling highway of sorts, luring weary travellers from the furthest reaches of Loorien, and trapping them with the temptation of a future; of magic and wealth beyond measure. Africa, though not quite so unsuspecting as the majority she came across here, had succumbed just the same as the greater population- there was no escape. "I didn't choose to come here but rain is a pretty good incentive to find somewhere. I have to say though that I've never heard of this.... Helovia, was it? Care to enlighten me?" The Ghast said at length, and Africa nodded cooperatively. At the prime old age of three, Africa had broken the shackles binding her naive soul to Nyorm and fled through the night to a land crafted by the gilded tongue of her aging mother. In secret, the dream-weaver had cast a web of myth and fantasy throughout the child’s imagination; the seed had been planted- and from then a vine grew to tangle through her very essence, to plague her thoughts and drive her determination. Impressionable and enthusiastic, she had immersed herself in the quest to find reality in those stories, seeking always truth and knowledge; and now she was growing and maturing, becoming her own legend amongst the legends of the fabled Helovia. My mother always told me stories about Helovia when I was little... “... Helovia is a country governed by the mastery of magic...” She began earnestly, imprisoned by her starry-eyed belief that the very earth beneath their hooves was enchanted beyond her wildest dreams. She had not yet discovered the ins and outs of the concept, but her fascination was ripe and ravenous. “There are four kingdoms,” she recalled, moving quickly with almost sporadic attention between her ideas- she drew on her recent encounter with a stallion called Thor. He had embraced her in a sense, and sampled to her thirsty pursuit to learn, that his home and her own were bonded closely. “And between these, the land is known as the wilds- many live there also, choosing not to align themselves with a flag for whatever reason. Helovia is vast... ” She declared with a hearty sigh. Africa was more than happy to elaborate, though she paused to peer curiously at her company- offering space for thought or questions if that was her inclination. “I have come from Dragon’s Throat, the desert kingdom to the south. ” "Thinking. Speaking. Acting."

Ilore cocked a foot and perked her twin audits forward to denote her attention as Africa nodded, feeling a smile for whatever reason wanting to curl on her lips as she prepared herself for the story that was sure to come. And the first line nearly had her bursting into laughter. Governed by the mastery of magic? Wasn't that just poetic? The pale mare was glad for her long, unkept locks that acted like a privacy umbrella over her face when she ducked it toward her chest to choke her laughter, for surly the sneering, cheshire grin that dared show the white of her teeth was sure to scare the little birdy away had the younger mare seen it. As much as that would have been entertaining, especially in her current situation where she was all but morbid, there was important information to learn yet - even if the source was secondhand and becoming more doubtful by the second. Ilore would have more then enough time to sort out the fluff later, so no use scaring her off now. Any advantage was more then worth a little patience. While normally Ilore kept her composure as ridged as steel, oddly enough the mare could feel her mental grasp on herself grow a little lax while she fought to keep her willowy shoulders from shaking too much from the contained laughter that begged to burst out of her fleshly colored maw. Ilore credited it to the cold and exhaustion that numbed her body and the fact that it had been so long since last she last had anything to laugh about from sheer ridiculousness that its mere presence before her was intoxicating. Well, a little fun now and again could be afforded, so long as the mare didn't let herself slip too far and in that respect Ilore cast a wary eye upon her own actions. There was a certain reputation to be upheld after all.

Thankfully some of her giddiness wandered away as Africa continued on, giving Ilore enough edge on her thoughts to concentrate attentively once more, ivory audits perked, and suppress the remainder of the laughing spell. Habitually the ivory cocked her head from one side to another with each new sentence spoken by the winged grey, comprehending the details in a detective manner while noting how Africa seemed... flighty with her thoughts...just like a bird. Not surprising in the least.

At the mention of the Wilds Ilore thought instantly of herself and that that seemed the place to go after she was rid of these sodden woods. Following the winged grey to wherever she was from was out of the question since the beginning and the thought was only reinforced once Ilore learned she hailed from a desert. As badly as Ilore yearned for warmth at this moment it would be pitiful to let that fact alone convince her of anything. Besides, with her pale complexion the mare would boil to pieces in the heat. Still, there was a small temptation to pursue the subject of why Africa was so far from her home, if she truly lingered in a desert... but personal lives could wait till after dinner. There was much still to be discussed, particularly one matter and she'd only had measly appetizer as of yet. Hopefully the grey wasn't out of knowledge just yet...if it could be called that.

" And what of the other kingdoms, to the west and the east? To the north? Ilore paused slightly, taking the moment to let Africa catch her words while she loosened her body posture and became visually more... open and comfortable, but just a little. Enough to say she...trusted Africa. And enough not to insult Ilore's pride. There even was a certain shyness apparent in the mare's amber eyes as she timidly pawed at the ground with a hoof. It was if a glass covering had been cracked, exposing the child beneath.

Of course it was all an act.

Horses talked more when they were comfortable and comfort comes easiest when surrounded by others like themselves. It was simple logic. Ilore considered it enough to please the little grey mare before her seeing as Africa was making it quite obvious she had good intentions and was beaming it toward the ivory like a ceaseless sun, practically force-feeding the willowy mare."Being so new, wouldn't want to stumble into somewhere bad by accident now would I?" She continued, flicking her tail idly as she considered her next question, or even if she should bother with it. Do I dare? I dare." Oh...and tell me...about magic."

Look down The ground below is crumbling Look up The stars are all exploding “And what of the other kingdoms, to the west and the east? To the north?” The sodden pale mare asked and while quietly observing, Africa thought she saw the unmistakable lines of tension ease throughout her company’s exterior. The grey too relaxed, though it was not nearly so considerable, given that her demeanour had already been bordering casual and cool. She shifted her weight as she considered the question. “Hmmm...” She began, narrowing her eyes into a briefly pensive, targetless stare. Naturally Africa began with the easiest and most friendly territory. “The Wold’s Edge lies east, though I have never been there.” She paused again to add- “Well I haven’t actually been to any of the other herd lands.” But through a carefree smile she continued along with the same chain of thought. “The horses which live there are friendly, I think... They are closely tied with the Throat.” Although her scattering of unhelpful information was perhaps frustrating and pointless, Africa remained blissfully unaware- it was all truth, word of mouth in fact; just lacking in quantity. “Yes...” She persisted vaguely, searching her memory for any encounter she might have had with those of the eastern lands. “I don’t know much about those in the east sorry.” Africa shrugged sloppily. “But the north!” She blurted suddenly, her eyes widening in grim warning, “They are a foul lot, bloodthirsty and cruel. I would warn you against visiting the racist folk of the Basin- or stumbling in that direction.” While her caution could have been rather over the top, the young grey offered it whole-heartedly, sincerely and assertively. Through personal experience Africa’s impression of those Unicorns had been marred, and appropriately, during their last herd meeting, the Throat kin had been warned to avoid all contact. Africa’s brow furrowed apprehensively, and she couldn’t help but shift a concerned eye through the falling rain around them. When next the ashen mare spoke, Africa’s eyes lit up with interest. She knew nothing of magic really, but it was her personal mission in life to discover its value and ability- she was fascinated by it. “Oh, I don’t know anything about magic sorry. But I have seen it shake the earth wildly, bringing a vigorous stallion down across his knees!” She gazed wondrously at her ‘friend’, presuming that she too would be awestruck by such a grand phenomenon. Unfortunately though, the Pegasus was a clean character and having no information to disclose, she left it at that. "Thinking. Speaking. Acting."

Circe How long the shadowmere had been in their company was impossible to determine; Circe herself was unaware of the exact moment their presence had broken through the drifting chill of the Threshold. The mare had been wandering, somber and reserved in her countenance, her mind endeavoring to stave off the weight and pull of her own despair, yet also beckoned and beguiled by it as well. She had taken to walking and wandering different places, leaving behind the frosty fields of her homeland—the scene was just too shameful and painful for the sorceress to face, as though it were the scene of some gruesome, despicable crime she had been inadvertently a part of. It was an unclean stain in her memory—and she did wish to be rid of it. What was more, Circe knew she had duties to attend to. A threat had blossomed in her leave of absence—she dully remembered the supposed “threat” of the assassins, her mouth curling into a smirk as she recalled the ridiculousness of the situation. What could such a small, undisciplined band of cowards wish to accomplish, aside from humiliation and possible execution? Whatever the idleness of the threat, however, Circe knew it was a threat nonetheless, and so she strove to complete the assignments that had been set out for her. In all honesty, the shadowmere worked far harder than the call to arms asked for—Circe doubt if she was truly needed to patrol the Threshold for potential hopefuls and to debunk the threat of those childishly incompetent cutthroats. But she must move herself. She must do something instead of rest—she could not afford herself a moment to think about her surroundings, the darkness that threatened to engulf her. Circe must be a warrior. For what else could she be? And so here she was, startled out of her sinister reverie as voices floated over the rain-soaked mists. The shadowmere cocked an ear, listening forward in reluctant curiosity; the flow of the conversation seemed familiar to the executioner. Her smirk acquiring a bitter twist, Circe realized one of the voices belonged to a female similar to herself, a wandering soul wishing to know about this strange land and request a place within it. An awkward discontent began to unravel within her the longer Circe listened; the second speaker, and innocent no doubt, was doing an absolutely terrible job of explaining the land. The poor soul seemed so fresh and young—sweet, in a way. Circe supposed such a sweetness would be refreshing, but it was not. No, for now, it was only irritating in an inexplicable way. *“I don’t know much about those in the east sorry.”* “I do,” Circe spoke suddenly, husky notes of velvet flowing from her mouth—her words weren’t as vibrant as before, but they carried far nonetheless. Circe stepped from the shadows of the sodden forest, her gait sure and her head held high as she surveyed the owner of the voices—a curious young girl with a sloppy sort of simper to her demeanor, and a gangling, crème-colored thing that spoke with far more elegance than her conformation suggested. Circe eyed both of them carefully for a span of heartbeats—then her mouth formed a slight smirk, her clouded eyes glinting with a hint of mischievous purpose. “I am from the east,” she said formally, inclining her head toward the crème female, “It is there that the stronghold for my herd, the Grey, lies….it’s not so far from here, if you wish for brief respite from this unforgiving weather.” Her eyes lingered on the amber irises of the unsightly fae before shifting her gaze to the bumbling youth of charm. *“But the north…They are a foul lot, bloodthirsty and cruel. I would warn you against visiting the racist folk of the Basin- or stumbling in that direction.” “Indeed,” she agreed, dipping her head a second time. Though Circe herself suffered no threat, it was surely unwise for an Equine to wander to those cursed, frozen lands...she knew her ma--General had gone there not to long before….certain events… Circe closed her eyes briefly, allowing the train of her thoughts to cleanse themselves from these dangerous paths. She didn’t want to break down in front of these curious strangers. She must stand strong. “As for magic…” Circe said, her voice trailing off and her smirk becoming quite sinister; she grasped hold of her black magic, beguiling the Earth Force to reach upward and latch onto several limbs that hang in a circular pattern around them. With several sharp snaps! and retorts, Circe willed gravity to yank the limbs down, forcing them to crack from their trees and splash into mud and puddles caused by the sky’s tears. Circe’s tail weaved idly from side to side—how was that for magic? “Magic exists everywhere in this land,” she explained, her intuitive gaze coming back to the homely female with a quicker eye than might befit her comely appearance, “and there are those who wield it. Some beg the Gods for their abilities, while others, like myself, are born with it. Power inevitably will come with these abilities….if power is what you prefer.” She eyed the female briefly before moving on, “However, there are many more who find power without being blessed with the arts of the ephemeral. It’s all subjective to will; heart recognizes heart.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in, her tail continuing to weave behind her as an adder might when pursuing their prey. There was no way of knowing the slyness behind the crème mare’s charade of indigence; there was no way of recognizing the greed behind her inquiries for power. Still, Circe stood vigilant, her head high and her eyes warily scanning both mares with a mix of steely resolve and cordial, pleasant curiosity.