She had barely noticed the young stallion, so focused had Mavuto been on moving forward into this new hellish quagmire of a forrest, but his voice trailed her, as did he as she moved past. The sound of his incessant nagging voice and the motion of him trotting behind her in the farthest corner of her vision grated as bad as the most determined of flies and so she moved to swat it down. With a feral sort of hiss she spun to face her gilded fly, and lurched forward to meet him head on. Manic eyes were wide and wild but they paid no heed to his horn or height; Mavuto had never taken much consideration of an opponent's size when picking fights and the little devil was not about to start now.

“Kutomba mwenyewe!” Her teeth clacked together with the order, sending her quill piercings beneath one eye twitching like exaggerated whiskers. She should have remembered that this was the first horse she had seen in days and a good opportunity to check for leads on her quarry but he’d just had to try and scold her. Though she had difficulty in speaking the language he spoke, she understood enough to know his gist. Who was he to scorn her behavior?!

She got an answer soon enough, or thought she did when another voice reached down to where she stood. Her molten gaze moved to rest on a bearded man some ways away and once she’d worked out his meaning her face split into an amused and toothy grin. Her bark of laughter was sharp, full of appreciation for the bearded man’s suggestions but the “Prince Charming” comment had her turning here eyes back of the pesky fly and reconsidering an attempt to squash him. The idiom was lost on her and she considered before her what she could now assume was a prince whose name was Charming.

A prince of any land should be at least somewhat knowledgeable about the comings and goings, especially of anyone as notable as Tembovu, who was sure to make and impact wherever he went. Now a valuable source of information, Mavuto changed her tack and approached the young stallion with all the charm and grace she would afford to any foreign royalty: none whatsoever. She stepped toward him again, not seeming to care in the least whether she crowded his pompous personal space. “Mavuto look for-the G-general.” She said in her quick, clipped voice. “Kuniambia ambapo yeye ni!” she ordered before she could even catch herself. Gritting her teeth around a frustrated puff of air, she tried to force herself to slow down enough to translate as she spoke.

It took some effort, and her heart was already racing at the prospect of finding a fresh print on her trail. Descriptions of her quarry and questions sprung from her gut to her mouth but she bit them back—her native tongue would do no good here. “He big. One horn, color of sand. Call him Tembovu.” She might have managed better if she could calm down but even her honey eyes burned with intensity as she stared down the “prince” “Talk, Charming!”

Translations
“Kutomba mwenyewe!” - Go fuck yourself!
“Kuniambia ambapo yeye ni!” - Tell me where he is!

M A V U T O
sweat dripping down your chest
thinking ‘bout your tattooed knuckles
that girl is a  p r o b l e m