A rumble in his mind, low whispers of ideas, thoughts, plans. What was this? An opportunity, seen and taken, by a beast that simmered just beneath the surface. Neither as deeply buried nor as defeated as the Elephant had thought (had hoped).

It peered out from his dark, glassy eyes— still trapped as his mind was in the cold mists that steeped his brain. But it felt stronger in the face of such magic, relishing the darker and destructive power. Looking out the edges of Tembovu’s vision, it appreciated just where it had taken over the creating of the spikes: they had grown sharper, more viscous. Vague approval flickered beneath the hard surfaces of his face.

”Tembu!” Attention flickered to a pearly blur that approached him. Glass hard gaze met her anxious eyes— oh so this little creature cared for the Elephant? And so young… So ripe for molding, influencing. Coldness had spread beyond his barrel, settling settling with alarming ease in his chest.

The muscles on his shoulder rippled and caved beneath a small, cold muzzle. The chill within him paused its spreading at the light, velvet pressure— heavy, misty breaths halting for a moment. In her silence as she glanced between the mists, spikes, and collapsed Glazier, a dull ache began to emanate from his knees. They were not meant to hold his gargantuan weight. An Elephant was not meant to kneel.

"Let go of the magic, Tembu. It's alright, it's over now, you can let go! Come back now.” The sweet, insistent prodding of the nose cut through the mists like a cold-hot wedge. The beast roared in defiance, pinning his ears flush with his head as it begged, urged, commanded that he strike out at the foal. Just one, solid bite would be enough, he could remain in control—

A long, clear breath (nearly a gasp), blew the fog away from his face. Blue eyes blink repeatedly as the mist thinned and faded away from his large body. His coat, soaked to dark brown with sweat and mists, shuddered once as the hardness melted from his gaze, focusing on his little white savior.

Reaching his broad muzzle out, he sought to gently bump it against Erthe’s cold one. “Thank you, Erthe,” a low, hoarse rumble came from his throat as warm breath replaced the cold mists coming from his nostrils. With a heave of his back and forelimbs, he returned to all four hooves once again. Shaken and dripping sweat, his large head swiveled to survey the handiwork that had come as so high a price.

He had erected a substantial amount of spikes. But not nearly enough to rectify the cost of using such magic. It would take a force greater than the Glazier’s, alone, to raise a wall of glass spikes around the Edge’s borders.

Returning his haunted eyes to Erthe and Anzanie, he low voice rolled hoarsely once more, “I think that’s enough crafting magic for today.”