|
"This Pegasus has received a beating like this for a reason, young one." Perhaps the wretched brute that loomed as a haughty mass of silvery white and black splashes was right, Africa thought miserably in silence while the Unicorns conversed tenderly, though quite unashamedly opposite her. They spoke of her, rather than to her, and the stallion seemed to regard her as little more than a brainless brown toad, caught in their pond of smooth green-skinned frogs. The racism that Kri had so very sternly warned about was indeed more prevalent then she could have imagined. Africa, before now, held little contempt for those who were without wings. Now filthy loathing sullied her peaceful, pale complexion, and she scowled at the horned brute’s ignorant arrogance.
His threatening glare caught the dismal sag of her red-washed, hazel gaze, and he continued his coaching- his malicious brainwashing, through a sardonic leer. "She was a trespasser who thought she could make a difference. She only was taught a lesson and kept here as a prisoner." His breath was fetid, blending with the bitterly cold Basin breeze into foul plumes of hot nauseating vapour above their heads. Africa felt ill, and she could tolerate his company no more. Withdrawing herself then, the Pegasus lowered her cranium defeated, and listened with fading interest and mushrooming pessimism as they continued their dull chat.
Crash Course, her mind hissed sourly when his identity was revealed- to the young filly. Vaguely she thought of Midas and the encounter between them all high up in the mountains back in Tallsun. Crash had fallen to his knees that day before the expert hand of Dragon’s Throat General; he had been their prisoner, and Africa wondered if he was offered this perverted form of sick courtesy. Those memories were but opaque smog now, distorted by all the terror which had befallen her, and even the childish fondness she felt for Midas was lost amidst mistrust and guilt; the conflict of a broken-down, tormented soul.
"What do you call yourself, bird?" The venom lacing the words was slick and spiteful; its harshness drew her up and out of the morbid pit her mind had caved into. Africa did not answer his demand, though she did not clench her jaw to defy him with stubbornness either. The glazed look behind her traumatised, exhausted eyes did not lift from the etched track within which she was still standing. She didn’t care anymore; she wished that it was her lifeless corpse on the hill, the crude battlefield by the front gate of this hellish prison. Sinuhe, she thought resentfully above a heavy sigh, had caused her this grief and now the young sweet-natured grey was paying the price through torture and suffering, alone.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
![[Image: 515b833f251f3]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/515b833f251f3)
