tembovu

Indeed, the Elephant King was not difficult to find. He never had been— that is why he had always hidden in plain sight in Dorobo. Who suspects an affable clod? Who distrusts the order-following general? Stroke their egos, deploy troops, and all of Makutano would eat whatever story he told.

All except one. Tsavo, the lioness, hadn’t trusted him in the usual sense of the Council. No, their relations had been more of an agreement than a trust. A deal, trading of information and, on a night of too much of Kiuaji’s wine, a sharing of loneliness. At least, it had been for Tembovu. They lived a truth in clandestine shadows, flirting with a gruesome death by the Makutano should they breathe one word too many into the wrong ear.

Those had been dark, destructive days for the Elephant King. He had carried out orders based on greed, directed troops to innocent camps of the Debwani, to ensure that they did not suspect him. He had relied heavily on the trades he had deplored Kiuaji for when they were colts, he had physically beaten Adaeze to ensure any trace of his duplicity was covered, and he had used Tsavo both for information and for alleviating his isolation.

It had worked— marginally. He had felt some kind of connection with the lioness. Though how could he not? Though their lips were tightly shut and their exchange between each other as careful as with any Makutano member (trust was deadly in those times), they had still been united. They still had a common enemy: the Council. Even if their reasons for distrusting the Council differed, their hate still allied them. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ right?

The arrival of Tsavo to the Helovia, and her joining of the Edge, resurface these thoughts with a vengeance. Did guilt swirl beneath the memories? He hadn’t felt it at the time— he had been so blinded by justice and revenge. But now, that time and circumstance had distanced the King…

Navy eyes, clouded with such heavy thoughts, land on the culprit of all these notions. Walking columns of legs paused mid-step for a moment, gaze sweeping the warm steel of her coat, the proud spires of her impressive horns, and the land on the patch of white beneath her chin. He had lipped and nipped that splash of ivory—

He shook his head, trying to clear his great skull of such thoughts (of such memories). But, still, he was immensely glad (relieved?) that the independent and proud woman had joined the Edge. Why? Perhaps to make amends, perhaps to ensure nothing ill befell her again, perhaps to just be near to answer unasked questions from their pasts…

Mbwene was strangely quiet and obedient at the Elephant’s heels. The multitude of confusing emotions pummeling her through their bond was overwhelming. The sadness was simple, she could handle the shadows that had plagued their bond since her hatching. But this… This was a barrage of conflicting emotions that baffled the elephant calf. So, yielding to the deluge, she trailed in his wake.

“Tsavo,” his low voice was quiet, cobalt gaze fixated on hers, “Thought it is not a sight I ever thought to see, I am glad you call the Edge your home.” He paused, eyes could not help their glance between her own bright blues and the oh-so familiar white splash at her muzzle, “How do you find Helovia? And the Edge?” There was a sincere, intense curiosity beneath the seemingly mundane question. He wanted (needed) to know.