the elephant king

The gilded, newly crowned earned Specter was bleeding. He was bleeding, walking (with obviously pained steps)—speaking defiant words that were toneless. The King’s dark navy eyes swept from the serpent to the Frozen Light and then back, closely watching; was the lack of inflection intentional? Or a byproduct of exhaustion? It was clear that the fight had been an intense one—one had only to look at the wounds on Toulouse’s gilded skin.

Dark eyes rove to Lyanna, a brief moment of fear striking into his chest amid the confusion as she looked almost yearningly over the Edge. His brows knit, lips pressing together as he began to steer towards her in particular—he had grown fond of the teal accented beauty—But the King was interrupted in his concerned walk as Iona began to speak. The bold, brazen Specter began to speak—though her voice was flat, her anger rolled off her in palpable waves. Her words were filled with things he did not know of—that, perhaps, was his failing as King. He had been to consumed with his family, children, and mate; too lenient to his rank leads to control with their divisions…perhaps he needed a more involved rulership…

Navy eyes flicked to Lyanna, relieved finding her preparing to heal the fighters, and the tightness in his chest shifted from that issue to the next. He found his dark gaze resting on Mauja’s clear blue eyes—part asking, part seeking, part steadfast, part…unknowing. He wasn’t sure why he turned to the spotted man—perhaps his subconscious felt the tightness and sought relief in someone he loved. Perhaps it knew Mauja was the previous King Queen. Or perhaps the bright blue eyes were extraordinarily shiny in the rays of sunlight that filtered through the mist, and happened to draw his gaze.

Regardless, he turned to Toulouse and began to speak, “While I greatly respect the questions of both my Emissary, Mauja, and Specter, Iona, I must receive answers before all else,” his deep voice finally rumbled. It cracked once, his throat and lungs tired from his long sprint back from the Veins.

“First, I would ask how you intend to fulfill this new rank if you make an enemy of your lead Specter?” Though Tembovu was not a true diplomat, the Elephant King did know the art of amiability. He had employed it well in his past Dorobian life. Pausing for a moment, his gaze looked between the verdant-eyed pegasus and bleeding gelding.

He then continued, his low voice rumbling, “Secondly, I would ask how taking—or threatening to take— the life of a herd member qualifies you to lead any rank in this herd?” He then fell silent for a long moment—the words of ‘invasion’ and ‘tasks’ boiling in his mind.

There was a part of him that wished to stomp and demand answers. But there was another part, a part that had grown strong beneath bearing the weight of regency, that wished to guide and learn from this…’situation.’ So, instead of delving into abusive questions about invasions and un-accomplished tasks, he simple waited, heavy navy eyes expectant on the serpents—thought it would be a lie to say there was no pity beneath the weight of his gaze.

Mbwene swayed behind her bonded, bright eyes sharp and distrustful on the bleeding man.

Tembovu

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