Large, ebony hooves plodded through the deep sand of the dunes—they seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, though, his heavy steps reached the wet, hard-packed sand where he did not sink to his fetlocks in warm, gritty granules. His ears swiveled forward, listening in solitude to the crash of the sea for a few moments, before they swiveled back to listen for Mbwene’s approach. Though her broad feet were good for sandy surfaces, her short limbs were not, so it took her much longer to cross the dunes than her bonded.

Still, with a continual low grumble heard through their bond, she approached the ocean behind Tembovu. However, rather than aid him, she hung back and watched. She seemed to do this a lot lately—closely scrutinizing her big Elephant. Mostly because there was this continual undercurrent of sadness in their bond. Certainly the small matriarch had experienced the broad spectrum of her companion’s emotions thus far—he was far from a stoic stallion.

But this was different.

Lately, there was happiness, joy, irritation, restlessness—all the normal emotions of the man (perhaps less stress since his abdication, though). But, beneath it all, there was this quiet, low drone of despair. Mbwene couldn’t shake it. And it worried her.

So, she watched as the Elephant’s muzzle dropped to the seas. “Spark weed…spark weed…spark weed,” he mumbled to himself, low voice carrying over the waves despite him being the solitary creature along the shore.

The massive stallion somewhat knew what spark weed looked like (he had ruled alongside a Moon Doctor); but, originating in a land-locked grassland meant he wasn’t familiar with ‘seaweed.’ Though his time in the Edge had certainly taught him of its smell.

His black nostrils flared as he shuffled through the shallow waters, tucked behind a rocky headlands so that the sea wasn’t quite as churned by the waves. His muzzle reached out, thick lips (perhaps unwisely) grabbing random plants (or fish) that meandered into his path.

“ARgh!” a surprised trumpet bellowed well above the crash of the sea as the spark weed in question revealed how it had gotten its name. His great head flew up, ears pinned tightly to his skull as his nose wiggled furiously—equal parts numb and painful from the weed’s nasty shock.

Mbwene, who normally would be chortling in amusement at her bonded’s misfortune, stood worriedly on the beach watching. This amount of anger and misery that flowed through their bond was disproportionate to the small injury he had just received. Her trunk twined anxiously as she watched.

Something was not right with the Elephant.