Look down, the ground below is crumbling
Look up, the stars are all exploding
The biting cold gnawed voraciously at the raw pimpled skin wrapping the wing, which remained tucked against the bars of her ribcage. Short work had been made of the glorious patchwork grey plumage when the boiling of ruthless stress had reached its devastating climax. Mouthful after mouthful of luxurious feathers she had ripped below the austere shadow of the northern ranges; a habit forged during early childhood, interweaving the hyper-sensitive strings of a fragile heart; an involuntary urge, cruel mutilation. Minute scabs speckled the fleshy pink to mend the punctured skin, but wounds that were not so superficial bled antipathy through her heart and plaguing guilt through her mind.

The colt... Nym‘s blue gaze was penetrating, regardless of the warmth and empathy flowing from their midst. Africa refused their caring embrace with reticent inflexibility, turning a shoulder in defence.

Beady eyes assessed their young company quietly and patiently. Silas quickly established that the younger horse’s manner was clean and tender- if not submersed almost entirely in immature innocence. His ridged, cold beak could not shape his retiring approval into anything greater then a low gravelly purr. Before Nym, a child had never crossed his path; and certainly, though only months old himself, the midnight Zephyr did not consider himself as such. There was an amateur softness to the colt's small, supple build, one which was significantly less bulky than the matured frame of his bonded- and he thought pensively that such stature posed very little threat, even while Africa was weak and worn.

"My Mother is dead, m'lady. I am quite afraid my father has forgotten me." Nym revealed and shed his liveliness in an instant. The dip of his still-small face caught Africa off-guard and her frigid gaze stiffened towards him. She pursued her dry lips as she seized the opportunity in which he was not watching her, to study the colt; to allow his wistful words to sink like a knife through the thrum of her desperate soul.

Her own mother was still very much alive; she had no reason to presume the opposite, so in that respect, Africa could not relate. That word though, dead, the pain and suffering which accompanied its tart, sour note still reeled savagely through her fractured mind. The illusory scent of fresh death flooded her nostrils, and her face pinched with revulsion. The sound of her herd-sister’s final gasp invaded the restless twitch of her ears, premature and frightened; and the gruesome, confronting image of her ice-white body slumping helplessly into a lifeless heap on the cold, unforgiving earth, flashed through suddenly clenched eyes.

"Helovia is a vast land..." Africa whispered simply through the inaudible grind of her tightening teeth. Of course she meant that the chance of two beings meeting in the middle was slim, no matter how determined their quest. Begrudgingly her mind added, if you cannot fly. The shift of her bonded atop her withers split her thoughts, and for a quick second Africa felt sorry for the boy. "I can offer you nothing but company while you search." The dappled mare sighed wistfully into the billowy breeze, turning her sad eyes away.