Look down, the ground below is crumbling
Look up, the stars are all exploding
"So that is the name of your brave little friend." The unfamiliar though warm voice of the slate-grey mare broke through dense confusion and uncertainty gripping the moment. Africa’s strained expression snapped towards her. The equine continued tenderly to explain all that had had taken place; that which had led Africa to this point where she stood across clenched, splayed legs before the two mares and the little blue dragon. The Edge...? Africa questioned silently, pale brow lifting to reveal her surprise. Her head hurt, pounding all the more when she tried to venture back through fuzzy memories to establish why that name sounded so familiar. She could not break through the chronic infection which was her time spent imprisoned however, and closed her eyes tightly to ward off the vision of snow-crust, rock and rime- and all that would surely follow.

As the grey Pegasus’s heart rate settled, so too did the nerves of her Zephyr companion, and she watched closely as the small dark bird lifted between gentle flaps to perch across a low branch, just beyond the mare who had spoken. The mist still lingered about the knees of the three horses, even as the softly seeping sunlight thawed the frosty air, and while Silas wanted to remain close by his friend’s side, he found the strange old forest unnerving; he felt vulnerable and exposed upon its clouded floor. Africa never questioned his reasoning, as her eyes locked with his for a fleeting moment; somehow she could feel his unwaveringly fierce loyalty- and this was only assured further by the words of the wingless, hornless mare beneath him.

A deep, pensive sigh slipped through Africa’s barely parted lips and she lowered her pale, amber eyes to look upon the mare and dragon as they came together; reconnecting fondly through affectionate touch. The young grey’s eyes softened as a serene sort of pallid glow glazed across them, she did not know that Silas too was watching the couple, and that between herself and her bonded a shared composure could have been allowed to strengthen. When the dragon at last was lying sprawled and comfortable across his mare’s hindquarters, the grulla began to speak again. Quickly, Africa switched a narrowed glance towards the other mare, both curious and cautious because she was yet to speak. She could not have known that it was this quiet heart who had coordinated the mid-night stealth, nor that she held no affiliation with the feral clan of the north. For now though, still with very slight traces of her former self buried beneath the aloof, untrusting posture, Africa did not pass any spiteful judgement.

"I used my magic to heal you," Quickly, she glanced towards the speaker though her eyes were not focused; could not centre. Heal me? Her mind’s eye whispered inaudibly while the Shaman spoke on. Filled with sorrow, she remembered that nauseating sound; the popping joint, the crunching ligaments that could grip no longer. At that point her stomach began to tremble and twist, and Africa felt as heavy as she did dizzy, closing her eyes and frowning pitifully as she fought to steady her swaying balance. The squeamish horse did not dare spare even the slightest glimpse towards her naked left shoulder. She could not...

"Africa," A second voice instantly filled the void left when the other ceased, "I am Hellena, and this is Smoke and Zaffra." As her eyes began to swell with hot melancholy, tears of desolate despair channelled through the grub and grim which coated her pale, dropping face. Not that it mattered, but she knew then why the Edge was familiar- Thor’s kindly features drifted past her closed eyes, a face from what felt now like long, long ago. Hellena continued, her voice soothing and sympathetic, but Africa was shrinking into herself; escaping her morbid reality into a tunnel of miserable isolation through which no one would be able to reach her; nobody could harm her. Sinuhe, she recalled sullenly, had not paid the ultimate price.

Africa wanted to collapse forward and bury herself in the caring embrace of these two mares; to prove her appreciation, because not one inch of her resented being removed from the Basin’s wretched walls. A chirp, saddened by the sudden gush of his bonded’s emotion, danced down through the group; but there was nothing Silas could do, his presence was only the smallest grain of light in the broken mare’s heart. Just like the weeks passed when Africa had shut the world out and submitted to defeat, he felt hopeless grief. The Zephyr’s short life thus far, had been the most gut-wrenching rollercoaster to say the least. Brave and true though, his love did not falter, and his eyes bled the depression which filled her soul.

She did not want to go home; she did not want to face the judgement undoubtedly waiting by the terracotta borderline of her home. Africa sobbed bitterly; renewed hate for all that had happened to her, forcing uncontrollable convulsions through her hunched over frame. She wanted to grovel like the pitiful traitor she had become, to beg Hellena and Smoke if she could stay with them, in their sanctuary, forever. Panic filled her as Kri’s stern warning began to resonate inside her pulsing skull, and Silas swept down to sit faithfully by her stiff leg. Africa was a coward and she cursed herself wretchedly, clamping her eyes tighter with each loathing breath.