He watches, in silence, as Erthe, overwhelmed at the sight of a diety, picks and offers flowers to the lavender goddess. He does not smile, though many do, to see such a sight. Instead, he carefully watches for the Moon’s reaction, for now is a time to learn of their patron. He was given few chances to do so, and he felt (no, he knew) that fewer things would benefit the herd more than him understanding at least the whims of the Lady Night.

His ears swivel towards Elsa as she agrees to rule beside him. And then to Nyx as she, too, agrees and thanks him for the promotion. Though his eyes, still trained on the goddess, are not on her and thus he misses her ill-disguised disappointment.

Then his attention finally shifts as Torliek addresses him. The dethroned does not mask his disgust with him, with the goddess, or with the herd. It is on proud display, for any and all to see and hear. Slowly, his ears swivel forward as the bearded man speaks, saying words that he already knew to be true. Anyone will be taken from power if they were not useful. They should be. They would be ‘tossed aside’ only if they were childish or disgraceful. But now is not the time for the Elephant’s soliloquies, it would not reinstate the man’s honor. Nor would his words change minds— emotions deafen the ears in times such as these.

So he is silent, brows raising as the Moon viciously rounds on the man and takes his armor. The Elephant will remember that thunderous anger, well. Though she says words that were true: Erthe did have broken legs. Mauja had lost a daughter and and a love. And even he, himself, had nearly burned alive beneath a melting god. So, to the Elephant, Torliek’s excuses for his absence were just that: excuses.

His eyes grow cold, hard. An honorable man would not declare excuses. An honorable man would recognize his mistakes, and own to them. But he grits his jaw against saying such things, for making enemies now is not a luxury the new King can afford. So, when the Engineer, the man who built Sno’s raft, speaks on behalf of the Bloodskald, the entreaty falls on deaf ears. Words are worth little, it is actions that speak loudest. And Torliek’s bitter, hurt actions scream of adolescence.

As the man once again mounted his soapbox, after Erthe’s entreaty for him to stay, the Elephant King’s eyes swept the crowd. He nods minutely at the high compliment of having ‘promise’ of being a ‘good leader one day.’ “I hope only to be half the leader you were,” his voice, perhaps falling on deaf ears, was carefully schooled to impassivity. Though the hardness of his eyes belied his tone.

But he realizes, as he continues to watch the herd during Torliek’s verbose monologue, that it was not the Goddess that stripped him of his power. It was not even himself. It was the loss of respect of those he lead. This realization hit the Elephant hard. He had begun this meeting uncertain if he should take the power; but, as he looked at the two dethroned kings— one broken, one bowed— he was suddenly uncertain as to where the power would take him.

With such ominous thoughts, he gives a sideways glance to the Moon Goddess, silently asking if she had anything more to add, before finally calling this meeting to a close, “Thank you for attending. I am sorry that some did not attend, and am sorry to see some leave,” navy eyes flicker to the retreating form of Torliek, “But there is both promise and hope for a future in this herd. Meeting adjourned.” Perhaps anticlimactic, but enough had occurred, it was time for the meeting to end. And time for a King to be alone with his thoughts.