They say an elephant’s eyes speak the greatest language

At first, his son did not respond. The darkly spotted colt was turned away from him, silhouetted by the fiery setting sun; the only movement was the gently play of breezes through his silken, long mane and tail—inherited from his dam, as Tembovu’s was thick and coarse. The thought sent a quiet hum of sadness through the King’s heart, knowing Adaeze had returned to Dorobo…

Black-rimmed ears tilted back at the shunned silence he received from his child. Slow, heavy steps slugged through the deep sand, until he was just abreast of his son’s mahogany haunches. But he pushed no further, stopping his great bulk there and just…waiting. It was a pained, hopeful silence on behalf of the Elephant.

And it was rewarded…somewhat. Harsh words asked cutting questions, followed (finally) with acknowledgement by Zubi’s beautifully golden gaze. Dark, navy eyes met the caustic stare sadly—but not without love; for there was an unencumbered paternal warmth in the Elephant’s lined and tired eyes. And it would glow there indefinitely, no matter what barbed insults or questions his dark son threw at him.

The Elephant waited silently, only a few shortly expelled and pained breaths outwardly showing how thoroughly his son’s pain and questions cut through him. Only when the massive stallion was certain that his son was finished, did he begin to speak—picking through the tirade as he answered his son honestly.

“Your mother and I… we have a history quite different from Rexanna and I. I do not think Ada would have… appreciated my sending a search party after her,” and, indeed, given their uneasy past, a search party would leave a sour taste in his own mouth—it was too reminiscent of when he was forced to hunt the spotted cat in Dorobo. “And Tutti, I believe, is with her mother,” at least, the Elephant desperately hoped his sweet sunshine of a child was with her mother.

A long breath pushed out of his nostrils as his black-rimmed ears tilted backwards, before he began to address the more painful questions. “You are not a black sheep, my son. I have never thought of you as such,” he paused, closely and sadly studying the handsome, richly spotted face, “You have asked me to be honest—and so yes, it is true, you sister and I share close bond. But that is not because I do not love you, it is just easier for me—” he broke off, knowing that his words were coming out entirely wrong, and so he started again, “Zubari, you are my son and I love you deeply. Nothing— sisters, ranks, other children, mothers—nothing will ever change that. I have given you space because I felt that you did not want me near or close to your life,” a pained pause and blink towards the horizon, “And I am sorry if that made you feel any less than loved than Tutti.” A long, low, sad sigh pushed out of his chest.

Then, again, he began to speak, “There are many reasons I have not been open about Rexanna or my twins with her. They are not good reasons, but,” another deep breath, but this one filled with self-reproach, “At the time, I wished to focus on the family I had rather than one I had lost.” And then, when his voice had grown husky, he stopped for a long while.

His great bulk took a half-step towards his son—oh! how he wanted to hug and hold his own flesh and blood!—but he restrained himself, waiting for Zubi’s response for he engulfed him in a fatherly embrace.

“I hope you can forgive me, my son.”

What else could make you feel so much without a word?