the elephant king

Though sleep found the King much more easily now that Rexanna had created a home for them, insomnia still haunted—especially now that the weather was cold and his son was missing. He sighed a cloud of warm air into the frostbitten daybreak that found him quietly, slowly wandering the Edge’s forests. Then, his nostrils flared as his eyes were drawn to the trees’ trunks. This was a scent he could not put a face to, someone in the Edge he had not yet met. His brows raised as he caught sight of a pale feather clinging precariously to the rough bark. A pegasus, then.

He started after the trail of scent—and it, indeed, was a trail, as if she had purposefully touched every tree in her path. His thick legs quickened, ivory hooves crunching in the snow—snow that grew agitated and disturbed the further he followed the scent. And tracks that grew erratic, darting to and fro—

“You killed it…”

His son’s voice and its chilling words cause his heavy hoof falls to pause for a moment, before moving into a hurried, ground-shaking trot. Who had killed what? His nostrils flared and his ears strained, seeking to get as much information as he could before arriving on the scene—but then he heard another’s voice, “I think she’s smart.” Kiada? His daughter? His ears tilt back.

Zubari—yes his son had hurled his mean and hurtful words, “My son, you are too young to pass such judgements.” Though his words a rebuke, the King is torn: he is uncertain if the colt truly seeks to defend the rabbit or if he says such words to wound. If it were his twin sister, the King would know without doubt that she had the purest of intentions. But with Zubi… his navy eyes rest long and thoughtfully on the colt, before turning to his daughter, his brows raised. He had, thus far, only seen the sweet and eager-to-please side of his daughter. Not this dangerously dark side. His lips purse slightly—though it is a small gesture, it is enough to convey his concerned disappointment. Though he nods at her want to feed Khairi the rabbit; let not the carcass go to waste.


And then he turned to the the laughing woman.


As he takes his first, good look at her, his brows raise slightly at the mass of feathers that coat her neck in place of a mane. Indeed, the Elephant has not met before—he would remember such eyes and mane. His cobalt gaze follows the mare’s dark, striped legs and black hoof as it adjusted the steaming, mangled carcass. “It would be good for Khairi to eat it. Though, I would echo my son’s question, why did you kill it…?” His deep rumble trails off, implying that he was asking for her name.

Tembovu

No matter how fast or far a man runs
he cannot escape his fate.