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05-26-2016, 11:41 PM
A whinny, high, frightened, but alive, answers his bellow. Mbwene returns the cry with a loud, roaring trumpet— her still young mind swamped in the panic of her bonded’s dreams. She does not understand the reason behind the images and fear of the King, but she does feel the depth of his emotions. And they shake her to her small, calf core.
The father’s ears are perked— because, in that moment, he is more father than King. Though regency is taken seriously, far more precious and close to his heart is fatherhood. So it is tense, nearly trembling, and wide-eyed that he strains and waits for his son. Where is he coming from? His body shudders once, wanting to move but unsure which direction will bring him to Hawezi—
But then his boy is there, soft foal lips running over his rough hide as his own dark muzzle skims every reachable inch of his child. Neck, fuzzy mane, chest, forearms, wings, back, haunches, stifles— all are inspected. But his search ends on his chest, muzzle halting and breath held as he felt the quick ticking of life beneath his lips.
Slowly, with each beat, giant body moderately relaxes, “Promise me you will learn to fly,” his deep rumble is fervent, brought on by his dream. Though his command begs no question, as his great head suddenly hooks over the child’s small back and pulls him to his chest. Mbwene slowly edges in behind Hawezi, trunk seeking to touch whatever part of her favored person she could— also needing confirmation of Wezi’s presence after the crippling lost felt through her bonded.
Breathing slowed as his son’s presence stays and becomes more and more real by the moment. “I cannot lose you, my son,” his murmur is quiet and hoarse in the silent, small clearing, “I can’t.”
The father’s ears are perked— because, in that moment, he is more father than King. Though regency is taken seriously, far more precious and close to his heart is fatherhood. So it is tense, nearly trembling, and wide-eyed that he strains and waits for his son. Where is he coming from? His body shudders once, wanting to move but unsure which direction will bring him to Hawezi—
But then his boy is there, soft foal lips running over his rough hide as his own dark muzzle skims every reachable inch of his child. Neck, fuzzy mane, chest, forearms, wings, back, haunches, stifles— all are inspected. But his search ends on his chest, muzzle halting and breath held as he felt the quick ticking of life beneath his lips.
Slowly, with each beat, giant body moderately relaxes, “Promise me you will learn to fly,” his deep rumble is fervent, brought on by his dream. Though his command begs no question, as his great head suddenly hooks over the child’s small back and pulls him to his chest. Mbwene slowly edges in behind Hawezi, trunk seeking to touch whatever part of her favored person she could— also needing confirmation of Wezi’s presence after the crippling lost felt through her bonded.
Breathing slowed as his son’s presence stays and becomes more and more real by the moment. “I cannot lose you, my son,” his murmur is quiet and hoarse in the silent, small clearing, “I can’t.”
Tembovu
The Elephant King
Please tag Tembovu.
