An Elephant King and his Dove embraced on an icy shore...

The tension that gripped his muscles at her approach had melted away, leaving behind something akin to vulnerability. Heat blossomed over her side as he leaned into her and despite her best efforts, the roaring flame that engulfed the pale mare's heart began to lower and spit. There was the urge to pull away, to separate herself from that which threatened to douse her rage.

But here, in the midst of a frozen world where something could mean anything, the desert child let her flames sputter out.

He broke the silence, her Elephant King; his words laced with a pain she could not place, but understood all the same. She toyed with the idea of not responding, of keeping her secrets and her past locked tight behind pressed lips. They had stayed there for so long, crammed into the tangled spaces of her soul, a self-made bomb shelter, shielding her waking mind from itself.

Looking at him now, though, seeing the one creature that had seen into the savagery and brokenness that built her, how could she remain silent? Tembovu had marched into her fire, had breathed in her ashes and her smoke only to exhale something livable; something like oxygen. Something like trust.

And so the words spilled out, cracked and quiet.

"The pleasure houses of Uumalah welcome the patronage of many Korofi warriors. It is not uncommon for those born into the life of a whore to speak the language of our more frequent customers." Pale rose gaze had fixed upon a shard of ice that had wedged itself into the sandy muck beneath her hooves, something like shame creeping up her spine. Orithia had never spoken of her origins with words; the blushed woman had always preferred to communicate through action, through words painted in spatters of blood and sick. 

There was a breathy laugh, barely more than a whisper, and a cruel twist to her lips that preceded her monologue. A conscious effort to invalidate that which pressed upon her being with every breath.

"My mother was the house favorite and my father was keen to continue his business through both her and her advertised progeny, so here I am," she found she could not drag her eyes from her hooves, could not look at the monarch that had given her so much more than a home. "A nursemaid named Taht raised me until breaking day. I think those are the only good memories that exist for me in this life. After that..." Pale sides heaved as she fought with her self, struggling against the memories and their gripping fingers; they scrabbled for purchase on her tongue and lodged themselves in her throat.

They would choke her if they could. 

"After that I was used up, just like any of my sisters and brothers beside me. I was the only living daughter begat from my mother, and news quickly spread that I was of age. They..." Her teeth clenched of their own accord and this time, she let the hands of the past pry them apart, "Held a celebratory auction. The highest bidder won my first... Won my first... He took..." 

She moved on, to words that would come out.

"I think I killed him, that first stallion. I think I killed him when I made my escape. Father had come to my chambers, had been drunk off of something found in whatever gutter he frequented. He told me I looked like my mother. He said he was proud of his work." The embers in her chest stirred, "He took me, then. Like so many patrons before him, he took me. Told me I was just as fresh as my breaking day, as if it was a compliment, as if it was something I could live with. I don't remember what happened after that. I don't remember who died or who lived and I can't recall whose blood stained me when I woke up in a forest."

She looked at him, finally, the agony of reliving her own stolen youth etched into every line of her frame. She searched the sharp contours of his face, the endless depths of those blue eyes, she searched and prayed to find something like absolution. 

"All I know," her voice had quieted to a fearful whisper, eyes wide and desperate, "is that a heart of ashes will blow away on a breeze, but a heart with substance will keep its home in your chest and sometimes.." Those peach hued eyes slid to a close as she leaned into his side, fooling herself if only for the moment, that she had found asylum, "It won't let you forget."

An Elephant King and his dove.