Tembovu & Mbwene

He left the Secret Grove, hooves heavy with Orithia’s past (her trust). The thorned rose, the venomous cobra, the valiant dove; she was all those things. She was broken, but whole. Ever-splintering cracks filling with rage, anger, destruction. It was all she knew. But now, perhaps there was more? Perhaps, in their spar, in their small moment of respite in beside the frozen pond… maybe something more began to hold those pieces together?

Could the Elephant really be building something someone?

He had been a vessel of destruction thus far. Either hovering on the edges other’s despair or bringing it, himself. Elsa was a spot of light in his sea of darkness. But was that love? Or was it need? They both needed comfort, trust, dependency, and intimacy… Was he using his Queen? Were they using each other? And Katerina— she couldn’t even meet his gaze. Raeden delved into the spy ranks, but he had led her to the Edge on a hope of love that he couldn’t give (but had he? couldn’t he? he had been lonely on the beach…) The beach, Rexanna— her anguished eyes, her defeated face, and he had raged at her, a pregnant woman he had loved (had?)…

So could he really be building something?

He pushed away the betrayed, ice blue eyes of the leopard as he drew away. There was no use in pursuing that train of thought. He was already wallowing. Mbwene trumpeted behind him (he had gathered her from the Edge after leaving Orithia), annoyed. She was continually annoyed with her big man. The stream of emotions from him was always confusing, and always dispiriting.

So she scurried ahead of his lumbering walk, round pads leaving streaks in the snow that covered the northern part of the Thistle Meadow. It was thicker here, reaching past her knees— she was not impressed.

But she was impressed by the egg, pertly perched in all its golden glory, a ways ahead of her, nestled between the gnarled roots of a leafless tree. She blasted a short trumpet, rousing the Elephant King from his thoughts, as she bounded towards the egg, curiosity overflowing. What was in it? Another elephant like herself? Or maybe—

She abruptly halted before reaching the egg, suddenly turning on heel and swaying her trunk angrily towards Tembovu. She did not want to share him. A cacophony of brassy squeaks, snorts, and trumpets made her displeasure known as the giant halted in front of her.

And, truth be told, his mind felt so full, his chest so full of shadows and darkness (despite Mbwene’s glowing light), that he did not have a part of his soul to give to another companion. He already felt guilt at having bonded to the grouchy elephant calf (this thought elicited a stomp and snort from Mbwene). She was tethered to his demons forever.

He dropped his muzzle, nudging the loud calf reassuringly, which effectively shushed her— especially as she felt his decision through their bond. Though he could not help but admire the gilded globe, and concern spiked through him.

It was so cold in the meadow, and the egg was mostly exposed to the elements. He could at least move it, or build a wind break around it until another, more open soul came along. Feeling the reluctance pulse from Mbwene, he began to slowly approach the tree, watching the oval sphere for any signs of hatching. In his studying, he saw how gold it was, gleaming against the white snow. And the base was dirty? No, it was marbled with black markings, pristine and beautiful against the gold.

The white snow, the black marking, the gold shell— it reminded him of the Thief Rexanna. He could say her name. He paused, Mbwene alongside him, staring at the motionless egg.