Tembovu

the Elephant

The King warily watched Dominus’s hungry growl and crouch on the branch. Mbwene is less wary and more irate, trumpeting a loud and brassy warning to the undersized cat. But her warning quickly devolves into chortles as the lion tumbles to the earth, landing unceremoniously on the ground with a hurt yowl. The King pressed his lips tightly together to stop outright laughter, though deep chuckles still shook his massive chest and barrel.

He watched the cat gather the spears in his mouth, after Nyx passes them with approval. He dips his head at her comment; indeed the were point, but not as pointy as the blade— he snorted, realizing he had forgotten the blade Mbewne had dexterously tied into his tail. She had snapped quite a few strands, trying to knot the sharp edged but fragile weapon into his coarse hair. Swaying it softly, he motioned towards his companion who dutifully (annoyedly) stomped behind him to fetch the small knife.

As she worked, his attention turned back to his General, who alluded to their last spar. At first uneasiness settled in him—that had been the beginning of a whirlwind of lies and anger. But, as she flashed him a signature wolfish grin, he couldn’t help but return it. Mounting her had been liberating and entirely (physically) satisfying, at the time, “Yes, we should spar again Nyx.” Though his words agreed, there was no sensual promise beneath his words, despite their past.

His ears swung forward as her tone changed. “It hasn’t been easy?” His words invited her to share what was troubling her, without outright nosiness. And then she turned the question on him. How was he doing? His head cocked slightly as she mentioned he was accustomed to leadership, “Does it seem that way?” His question was mildly amused. He wasn’t certain he’d ever fully be used to being a monarch. “Life, also, hasn’t been easy,” he returned her answer, “But it will get better—“ his mirroring answer was cut off by a high-pitched squeal.

Mbwene chucked the now dislodged glass shiv at Nyx’s hooves. A few long, black, coarse strands were still wrapped around it, but the elephant calf didn’t care. No, she was fisting her trunk, having sliced the tip of it on the sharp edge. A drop of blood fell from the balled appendage as she glared at both the glittering weapon and her bonded.

The King shook his head slightly, great horn gesturing towards the blade, “The crafters also made small blades. I thought our General should be well armed.” A lopsided grin crossed his features.