Tembovu & Mbwene

Mbwene’s trunk instinctively jerked away from Hubris’ pincher-like talons as they reached out. Not because she didn’t trust him (well, she didn’t entirely mistrust him), but because the thorn in her trunk hurt, and his claws were awfully sharp. Her bright blue eyes jerked to his sea-blues, wide and uncertain as she hovered her injured trunk just out of his reach for a few, short half-seconds.

And then she, slowly, pushed her thorn-imbedded appendage towards his waiting, bronze claws. Ow. A soft, quiet toot left her trunk as he pulled the thorn free; and she jerked her trunk back to her face, close to her eyes so that she could carefully scrutinize the wound.

Satisfied that it was, indeed, free of all offending material, she trumpeted happily. Bright, crinkled blue eyes looked back to the bronze dragon, all hesitance gone as she thrust her trunk towards his wings, wanting to inspect and feel their leathery (but soft-looking) texture.

Meanwhile, the Elephant King disregarded his companion’s antics. His attention was wholly focused on the Mountain. Despite the relative pleasant greetings exchanged, there was (perhaps understandably) some residual tension that tightened the other-wise relaxed and amiable Elephant’s withers. There were many things said during their spar—barbs of logic and seeds of rationale the Mountain had said that now, faced with her slitted gold eyes, returned to needle his mind once again. ’Stealing from an outcast’; ’The Edge benefited from their crimes…’; ‘stealing is a legitimate…’ All phrases that hadn’t quite settled well with the King, a man of strong beliefs and relatively reliable moral compass.

So, needless to say, there were plenty of undercurrents running through the Elephant. His ears tilted towards her as he listened to everything she said closely, navy eyes watchful even as his face was relaxed into casual amiability. And her words—perhaps it was the uneasy paternal instinct raging in him from Safiri’s condition. Or perhaps it bled through from their spar, where he had been a father searching for his missing son.

Or, perhaps the Elephant King was a big softy, deep down.

Regardless, the giant stallion’s heavy head tilted slightly as she spoke so with such open, candid honesty. There are many natures that would, after defeat, seek to put their best self forward; to disguise and shortcomings beneath boasts or euphemisms; to create an appearance of quality importance.

Isopia, however, did not.

Slowly, in the face of such honesty, the tension melted away from the King’s shoulders. A slight grin curved up the corners of his pale muzzle and eased the painful creases in the dark skin around his eyes. The mare, though as large as he, spoke words that hinted towards a lack of guidance with too much expectation. A burden too heavy without the teaching or training to carry it. A lonely, tired existence—in ways, more lonely than being homeless.

“‘Nepotism’?” his deep voice questioned, head cocking slightly. Not asking how she felt that her existence in the Falls was as such, but asking what the word truly meant, “Before King, I was a general, not a wordsmith,” an easy, warm, lopsided grin slipped across his dark, thick lips, inviting the Mountain to not only educate him, but also find the humor in the King’s disadvantage.

After a long pause, the King then broached the substance of her words. “As a father, I can say that we wish the best for our children,” he paused, eyes searching her gold, “Though, perhaps our hopes turn into expectations of success. And that can be a heavy load for any child to bear.”

He sighed, eyes drifting to Mbwene as his tail swayed in the meadow’s lush, Birdsong growth, realizing that he, himself, may place too much expectation—particularly on the precocious and dark Zubari. “You are a good warrior, Isopia—” he paused, gaze flicking to hers as he slipped and used her name rather than her moniker, “—Exceptional, even. And your mind—” he shifted, thinking, “You do what you believe is right, which can be a hard quality to find in another.”

A long breath pushed out of his chest, before he continued, “What I mean to say, Mountain, is that you are welcome in the Edge, should you wish for a home… I would be glad to have you.” His last phrase dropped the royal ‘we’ of the Edge, instead simply saying what he, the Elephant, felt.