The Elephant wasn’t sure what drew him out of the Edge’s glass-shorn borders. But, whatever it was, it was urgent, and pushed his thick, long limbs in purposeful steps towards the south. Mbwene’s own short and stocky limbs shuffled in a quick trot to keep up with her bonded.

As he kept this brisk pace towards the unknown pull, he allowed his mind to wander. There was much for the Elephant to think of—his life, which he thought would become simple and happy once his family was reunited had become the opposite. It was tumultuous, frenetic, filled with responsibilities that pulled him in more directions than he had time. Unbidden, his ears had begun to lay flush with his skull as he racked through all the things he should be doing, rather than whatever it was he currently was doing. Why had he even left —

Stillness.

Abruptly, the Elephant stopped. Mbwene crashed unceremoniously into his haunches with a disgruntled trumpet, but Tembovu paid her no mind. His entire attention was focused on the still, spotted body that laid lifeless on the Rotunda’s floor. Some disjointed birdsongs droned distortedly into his ears that now strained forward—as if some strange and haunting melody wove him into a ghastly trance.

Legs slowly shifted into motion, carrying him through the languidly flapping, sheer drapes that seemed to tease him with the truth as Myrrine’s body floating in and out of view. Though his mind registered another there—one speaking a familiar language that was not the common tongue—his shell-shocked mind was too entirely focused on the still body that was not at his hooves.

His great head dropped to her skin, still slick from sweat—though it was drying and crusting over her spots in some places, now. It hovered for a moment, before he gently pressed his muzzle into her chest; as if seeking some whisper of breath or promise of pulse.

But there was one; he knew that before touching the now lukewarm skin. His ears tilted back, darkening navy eyes closing as his lips pressed tightly, sadly together. A long, pained breath pushed out of his nostrils—so quickly forgotten were all his troubles. Instead, his mind was filled with a sweet but sad-eyed butterfly who helped him regain his memories of his first son and love. It had been a bittersweet moment, filled with happiness and memories; but it had helped the King more than she knew.

His muzzle slowly moved to Myrrine’s face, lips gently and lovingly closing her lovely, sightless, hazel eyes—before death could rob them of their beauty with cloudiness. “Kupumzika kwa amani, rafiki yangu,” he murmured quietly, voice hoarse and nearly catching, “Pumzika kwa amani.”

A low, quiet, painful bugle came from behind him: Mbwene, her eyes bright with tears about to be shed.

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Kupumzika kwa amani, rafiki yangu. Pumzika kwa amani. = Rest in peace, my friend. Rest in peace.