Tembovu & Mbwene

“TEMBOVU.” The call was bellowed, carrying with surprising ease through the misted, evergreen forests. It bounced between thick, gnarled trunks; against which Tembovu was leaning, his massive haunches and thick, scarred hide pressing into the rough and uneven surface. He felt the slightly sharp pull of sap against a few parts of his coat, but he paid it no mind. His attention, which moments before had been drifting in the drowse of his afternoon naps that had become more habit than recreation because of his insomnia, snapped to the present. Though his navy eyes still blinked sluggishly, blessedly free of guilt, strain, and shadows as sleep still clung to them.

But then recognition dawned just as lines retuned to crease the thin, black skin around his eyes. Ros. The stocky, pert mare had a voice unique to her—there was no mistaking it. The Elephant King had been sad to see her go after Frostfall. There had been some part of him that had wanted, needed, her to stay. He had thought they were friends… and, for some inexplicable and illogical reason, her abandonment leaving had erased that premise from his mind. If she had found friendship with him, then she would have remained in the Edge. Wouldn't she?

That, at the time, had been the King’s logic. So it was not so much a grudge, but a solemn and festering disregard and snub that blemished his memory of his electrified friend. Mbwene, partly swayed by her bonded’s feeling and due to both being left by Chico and shocked by him, shared in Tembovu’s apprehensive glance towards the source of the call. Did the woman want respite from the Tallsun’s heat, now? To both Elephants (small and large), it seemed that that was all the Edge provided her: shelter from the elements.

So he sighed, slowly lumbering out of his doze towards the Edge’s still glass-littered borders. His eyes glanced first to the sparkling shards on the ground, annoyance flaring (soon they would be replaced with spikes), before he turned his heavy navy gaze on the black-puzzle-piece marked woman. “Roskuld,” his greeting was quiet and low in his deep rumble. Mbwene, likewise, gave a quiet, brassy toot to the maned and winged Chico.

Though, neither King nor companion could entirely tamp down the surprising wave of excited relief at again seeing the pair they had grown affectionate towards. Mbwene showed it with a outstretched wave of her long trunk (she had grown into it since Chico had left). The corners of the Elephant King’s muzzle (more heavily lined since Ros’s departure), turned upwards, “What brings you back to the Edge?” Black rimmed ears tip forward as he glanced at her split, jagged horn and at the long forelock that framed the dark markings on her white face, before returning to look in her voltaic eyes, awaiting an answer. He kept a distance between them, though as time wore on he felt the acute need to close it and embrace the mare.