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the elephant king
The King would have to be both blind and deaf to miss the jewel-colored Korofi’s accusatory glare at the hulking man beside her or the dare in her voice as she spoke unceremoniously to himself. His black brows raised slightly—it had been so long since he had been in the fiery presence of the fierce Korofi (Graasvoel as an exception to the rule; he was not like most from the plateaus). His ears sweep forward, dark navy gaze sweeping between the two brightly colored winged ones as the vulture apologized and then spoke in their native Korofi tongue to the woman.
Though the plains-borne stallion was not fluent in the plateau’s strange tongue, he knew enough to catch bits and pieces of his conversation with the fiercely proud woman. Mbwene, properly warned away by the bright woman’s pinned ears, trumpeted loudly and indignantly at her before turning on heel and marching back to Tembovu’s side, tasseled tail pertly twitching. She go. He mental command resounded with irritation between their bond.
He glanced down at his companion, head shaking slightly in denial of her demand. And, with a glower, the small matriarch stomped her rounded feet towards a patch of still green shrubs and began forcefully shoving them into her mouth.
Returning his attention to Graasvoel as the tawny colored man introduced the woman, he dipped his horn fractionally in recognition of the familial name. “Though I am sure the pleasure is mine alone, Saartjie, I still welcome you to make the Edge your home,” his voice vibrated with amusement, for it was apparent that the Korofi woman would find no pleasure in making the King’s acquaintance—and he would rather invite amusement than argument over this face. “I do not know all of the Korofi houses, but I did speak with Kunja of the Mopeli house, on occasion. And—“ he broke off, eyes crinkling in recollection, “I believe I spoke with a Sahib, who was of the Senzaok house?” He ended on a question, looking at Saartjie for either affirmation or negation of his memory.
Though the plains-borne stallion was not fluent in the plateau’s strange tongue, he knew enough to catch bits and pieces of his conversation with the fiercely proud woman. Mbwene, properly warned away by the bright woman’s pinned ears, trumpeted loudly and indignantly at her before turning on heel and marching back to Tembovu’s side, tasseled tail pertly twitching. She go. He mental command resounded with irritation between their bond.
He glanced down at his companion, head shaking slightly in denial of her demand. And, with a glower, the small matriarch stomped her rounded feet towards a patch of still green shrubs and began forcefully shoving them into her mouth.
Returning his attention to Graasvoel as the tawny colored man introduced the woman, he dipped his horn fractionally in recognition of the familial name. “Though I am sure the pleasure is mine alone, Saartjie, I still welcome you to make the Edge your home,” his voice vibrated with amusement, for it was apparent that the Korofi woman would find no pleasure in making the King’s acquaintance—and he would rather invite amusement than argument over this face. “I do not know all of the Korofi houses, but I did speak with Kunja of the Mopeli house, on occasion. And—“ he broke off, eyes crinkling in recollection, “I believe I spoke with a Sahib, who was of the Senzaok house?” He ended on a question, looking at Saartjie for either affirmation or negation of his memory.
tembovu
@Saartjie
Please tag Tembovu.
