He is relieved to find his friend alongside him (had there really been any question?), in the face of his brooding. Though he watched the bitter smile and the profile of the poisoner closely as he spoke softly— hushed truths of chasing fates deftly swept away by salty zephyrs. In that, the Elephant could trust his friend; though his lips may weave fantastical lies and hooves may concoct delicate poisons, to the Elephant he was a shadowed sounding board. Someone to tether his lofty aspirations of ‘justice’ and enable the darker face of retribution.

So he watches and listens to the hushed words, knowing the heavy truth beneath them. He is right, chasing fate had not lead anywhere good. “But Mara…” only the deepness of his voice allowed the quiet words to be heard— and they were nothing more than an idea. Because the giant knew that, alongside his friend, the impression would be understood. Aji had known Mara as long as Tembovu had, so to face her ghost…

It had been cruel of fate.

The Elephant had not been able to help himself, or his attraction— even Aji had not been able to curtail his immediate, visceral reaction to Rexanna (though it had been one of distrust and dislike, rather than lust). A soft sight escaped his nostrils, mirroring the serpent to turn his eyes to the sea. An ear flicked sideways, catching the half-hearted joke that slipped between them.

“Worry not, your beauty cannot be compared to any other’s, Aji,” the low rumble of his voice was colored with half-hearted humor— though he appreciated the joke he slipped between the tension. No other would have been able to draw such a humored response from the Elephant King while talking of his dead Mara.

Though the humor flees in the wake of the next questions that fall like lead between them. “…that is a child sired bay another…? Who is she exactly?” The King’s ears titled back, head bowed and eyes closed in a lingering blink as a long breath escaped him. He felt the gentle, velvet pressure of Aji’s muzzle against his thick neck and he leaned into it. It was welcome, a reminder of unwavering friendship.

“She is a woman who promised herself to me while ensnared by another. This pushed me atop another mare— Nyx, the General of the Edge— which hurt her greatly. So we parted, and apparently she did not waste time ridding herself of me by having a child by another (yes, Rein is sired by another man. The priest of the Basin, I believe). But, still, I am not rid of her,” his low rumble was impassive, until it turned bitter with his last sentence. Only in the comfort of Aji’s company would he allow such acerbity to stain his tone towards another. Only with him would he allow the just facade, the politically correct mask, to fall away.

“She is a Thief, not only of men’s hearts, but for the Aurora Basin.”

Tembovu & Kiuaji