Unwilling to return to the Edge, the Elephant had chosen to follow Aji in his northern wanderings. He had followed him, hadn’t he? Turnabout is fair play. And Mbwene, despite needing a brief nap after the tiring business of hatching, was now up and ready to continue using her legs. The small elephant had nearly mastered walking, but her trunk was another challenge all together. The pesky appendage seemed to move all on its own, and just when she had pointed the grasping tip towards something green, it jerked and twisted in an entirely new direction.

Tembovu, despite being haunted by visions of fiery beasts and burned bodies, could not help but watch Mbwene with mild amusement. Though he had weak grins instead of barrel-shaking laughter, it was still better than being mentally stuck in the Deep Forest or in his past.

Thus, his passage was much slower than Aji’s. So when he stumbled upon the Blood Falls, it was to find Aji gently moving an egg from precarious branches to soft nest of grasses. He halted, brows raised. What in Dorobo’s Plains was he doing? Saving the egg? How un-Kiuaji-like.

He opened his mouth to goad his friend, but held his breath as the sound of cracking shell filled the clearing. Mbwene’s ears flapped, trunk wrapping around Tembovu’s knees (now scabbed from their injuries in the Forest). She had just heard that noise, and it had resulted in this giant warmth beside her. He was hers, she would not share with another egg.

But the infant elephant need not worry, for this egg had its sights on the poisoner, rolling towards him with purpose. Only now does the Elephant King let out a bellow of laugher— Aji being chased by an egg?! “This is better than you being chased by the soldiers, Aji!” The mirthful words come out between tree-shaking chuckles.

His laughter started anew at the colorful string of words, leaning down to push Mbwene’s young ears flush with her skull. “There are little ears present,” though he knew his friend both didn’t care was too preoccupied with the companion clacking its beak before him.

Though his brows raise, smile dying as his friend blurted a name for the hatchling. “Matanye? A mother’s sorrow?” Sweeping strides bring the King closer, to inspect the small bird. “Those are ominous feathers to grow into, little one,” he came to halt alongside Aji. “Congratulations, my friend. Perhaps this will inspire some responsibility in you,” though he knew that was a long shot.

For the moment, his shadows and fear are buried.

Tembovu & Kiuaji