Her playful nip at his large cheek took the edge of his anger and fear away. He listens to her speak- feels her soft body lean against his hard chest- explaining her reasons for being there. As she speaks of protecting a foal, warmth stirs in his chest. So Rexanna felt protective over a foal? The elephant hadn’t been sure Rex cared for foals.

He hadn’t been sure about anything with the golden princess. He hadn’t been sure where he stood. How she felt about him. How he felt about her. They had been in limbo.

But battle is good for making uncertainties certain. It bathes the grey areas in blood, letting them dry black and white.

The fear he had felt when seeing her on the battlefield, so close to harm, had erased the censure her lies had created in his mind. Forgiven, perhaps, is an appropriate word, but not the right one. For it was an eradication of blame more than a forgiveness of guilt.

Regardless, he closed his eyes, leaning into her soft maw as she nuzzle him. “I’m glad to hear you care for foals, Rex,” he murmured against her skin offhandedly, in the pause between her words. His tone was easy, even if the meaning behind his words held weight. But the behemoth was too contented with their survival to allow much significant to sink into them, just yet.

His eyes slowly open as she apologizes, defeat starting to sink into her delicately proud frame. Though, despite the grief that was lacing though her voice as she states her upset at not being able to protect him, he feels happiness beginning to well up. For these were not the words of a mere friend (the word drips scornfully through his skull). These were the words, the actions, of a lover.

Battle is good for making uncertainties certain.

So the elephant took her words, her fear of loosing him, her embrace and caresses. He took them and allowed himself to place them in his chest, for safe keeping. And softly (surprisingly so for the thickness of his muzzle) he lipped away her long strands of ash and cream mane. Gently, his lips trace the delicate curve of her crest, withers to poll and back. A low hum of appreciation escapes him, for her skin is smooth and scent is… Rexanna.

He is partially testing the waters, partially reveling in his revelation. “It’s okay Rex,” he placates lightly on coat, wanting to soothe her. “It will take more than a god falling on me for you to lose me,” there is dark humor in his words, on many levels. For, indeed, if not for Mauja’s fire birds, the elephant could have been lost. And Rexanna, herself, nearly lost him after telling him the truth not long ago.

But he was still there, still will her, still clinging to each other in the wake of bloodshed. Suddenly an idea comes to him. A symbol, something to remind her of- of this. “My golden princess, I have something for you.”