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10-02-2016, 06:41 PM
A band of Edge members had left their home for the Basin. Despite the colder temperatures, the welcome the Basin had offered was warm—much juxtaposed to the King’s first (and only) entrance into the frozen tundra. That had been a frenetic, furious dash blocked by their Lord and ended by the sight of his lover and their children.
He sighed, the warm breath clinging as a cloud around his pale muzzle. He could not deny the hum of apprehension that strung a taunt wire through his chest. What was a Festival for the Basin (and for all those who attended) was a pivotal fulcrum for the Elephant King.
He had stayed for much of the storytelling, Lena’s title appropriately given for her lilting voice had enraptured even his distracted mind for a time. But the snap and pop of bright oranges and red in the sky, dimming the Aurora lights for a moment before the fireworks faded into the blackness. But the fireworks would mean one thing: Rexanna.
He had risen abruptly from the storytelling, head dipping once in a brief recognition of his silent apology, before long limbs carried him powerfully along the lake’s edge, towards the source the sparks. Mbwene opted to say and hear the rest of Lena’s story.
A navy gaze glanced towards Lyanna, head briefly dipping in greeting, “Hello Lyanna, I hope you are enjoying the Basin,” his deep voice rumbled as he passed her, before moving towards Rexanna. She was speaking to a cerndyr (whose? though he spent no time on this question), instead his movements were direct and purposeful as he walked directly up to his heart’s siren.
He stopped in alongside her, his head slipping over her withers, muzzle tracing her neck up to her jaw while his neck pulled her to his chest. He was silent for a few long moments, as if touching her could somehow him the answer he sought. “Rexanna,” his voice was low, but quiet, as finally spoke, slowly disentangling himself from her and began to drift away from those gathered. He did not want an audience for their conversation.
He sighed, the warm breath clinging as a cloud around his pale muzzle. He could not deny the hum of apprehension that strung a taunt wire through his chest. What was a Festival for the Basin (and for all those who attended) was a pivotal fulcrum for the Elephant King.
He had stayed for much of the storytelling, Lena’s title appropriately given for her lilting voice had enraptured even his distracted mind for a time. But the snap and pop of bright oranges and red in the sky, dimming the Aurora lights for a moment before the fireworks faded into the blackness. But the fireworks would mean one thing: Rexanna.
He had risen abruptly from the storytelling, head dipping once in a brief recognition of his silent apology, before long limbs carried him powerfully along the lake’s edge, towards the source the sparks. Mbwene opted to say and hear the rest of Lena’s story.
A navy gaze glanced towards Lyanna, head briefly dipping in greeting, “Hello Lyanna, I hope you are enjoying the Basin,” his deep voice rumbled as he passed her, before moving towards Rexanna. She was speaking to a cerndyr (whose? though he spent no time on this question), instead his movements were direct and purposeful as he walked directly up to his heart’s siren.
He stopped in alongside her, his head slipping over her withers, muzzle tracing her neck up to her jaw while his neck pulled her to his chest. He was silent for a few long moments, as if touching her could somehow him the answer he sought. “Rexanna,” his voice was low, but quiet, as finally spoke, slowly disentangling himself from her and began to drift away from those gathered. He did not want an audience for their conversation.
Please tag Tembovu.
