Tembovu & Mwebene

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The Elephant left the Deep Forest— all were better (safer) without the company of himself. No one needed to be near him now. He did not need to be near them.

So, forever walking, his heavy limbs went East, towards a land that still smelled foreign and earth that had not entirely healed of battle-scored marks. His head, though it should be racing, was merely blank. Nothing crossed through the deep, vast darkness that was the Elephant’s mind. It was like the silent, surreal reality after a cataclysm; everything was too quiet, too calm, too clear. It felt as though the world should after been changed, altered, impacted in some way after what he had done… but it wasn’t, even if he was.

So, he continued walking, weaving beneath the gently rustling canopy of green leaves and strange, green poles. The Elephant had never been exposed to ‘bamboo’ before the Wolf Rift God battle. It was too green, to serene, for the giant. His place was in darkness, in dry and desiccated lands with little life for him to ravage and burn.

Ears tilted backwards as he finally came to stop before a clear pool. The waters were still, glass-like— equally as tranquil as everything else in this place. Warily, he eyed the liquid; not wanting to lower his eyes and see a reflection but also needing to slake the thirst that had dried his throat since leaving the Deep Forest. He did not want to see the dark eyes, the lined face, the ash that streaked his pale face— it would make everything too final.

But, as thick, exhausted legs trembled and breaths roared noisily over dried mucosa, he knew he could no longer deny his thirst. A loud deep breath, a few purposeful steps, and a gaze directed resolutely to the opposite shore brought a lowered head and achingly cold liquid rushing into his mouth. It wasn’t pleasant, it was a shock— but he preferred it that way. (He did not deserve pleasant refreshment.)

Suddenly the water rushed from his mouth, eyes wide and lips slack. There, across the shore, was a oval, smooth object. An egg. Ivory shell streaked with ebony, it was vulnerably perched atop a small hillock. Ears perked as he blinked, stunned— this was too much for his shellshocked brain to take in. A companion? Had he not been yearning for one?

But no. He did not deserve to share his soul with some poor, unsuspecting creature. He would not inflict such darkness on an innocent. Another would come, find this egg, and take joy in the companionship…

Yet it seemed that fate had other plans for the Elephant King. As his navy eyes watched, the egg rocked once. Twice. And then down tilted— rolling with awkward, lopsided momentum down the hill and towards him; towards the water. Surely it would drown.

He lurched without thinking, heavy ivory hooves sending a spray of water as he was belly-deep in the icy water, great head extended as his muzzle halted the egg’s perilous roll. Slowly, he righted the egg, dark eyes reflected the cracks webbing across the mottled surface. The being inside pushed, loosening the outer layers, but the inner membrane resisted it’s struggle. Gently, with a tenderness that belied his great mass, he lipped a shard of eggshell free, dropping the ivory and ebony shard to the water.

And there, curled in a fetal position was the pebbled, grey skin of an elephant. Two blue eyes blinked up at him, bleary and unseeing in the newness of birth. Small, ivory nubs of tusks poked from her upper lip, and a trunk uncurled. Up and up it reached out the egg’s hole, touching the Elephant’s muzzle with bewildered strokes— before promptly grasping and tugging his whiskers.

He snorted in surprise, and the egg rolled backwards, further breaking apart as stumpy legs flailed and unfolded, searching for the ground. A squeaky sound (a trumpet?) came from the the creature, and Tembovu instantaneously was there, nosing and supporting and ensuring its safety.

And he felt light. Something wondrous, something redeeming, bloom in him as grouchy noises emanated from his companion. He had bonded. “Mkali,” he breathed, naming the small and wobbling pachyderm— a name of the ‘brightness’ that now shared his soul. It earned him a smart smack of her tasseled tail as she stumbled on round, flat feet.

Not Mkali, then. Mkali was light, grace, gentility. This small, sharp creature (even in its infancy) was not those things, he could already tell. He watched her totter, feeling sudden hunger pains through him as she leaned against his forelimb— trunk twisting with abandon as she tried to figure out just how to control this long appendage.

“Mbwene.” The name came out, a quiet whisper, without his approval. But it was out, and the small elephant was suddenly peering up at him, blue eyes clear and expecting. “Mbwene,” he murmured, quietly and warmly. The small matriarch to lead his soul back to the light.