Deep blue eyes watch the little white filly approach him. At the feather-like touch against his thick columns of legs, he blinks slowly. The feeling is alien and familiar all at once. He is caught, stuck in memories. But these memories are not the usual hellhole that he finds himself spiraling down. There is no smoke, no burnt bodies, no stench of charred flesh.

No, instead there were small, bright green eyes- from his mother, not the elephant. A face without markings, unlike his parents. A band of black ran along his downy tan sides, and his knees were ashen- promising to turn black with age. His belly was grey- a promise of white to come. All slender legs, he was bound to have his father’s height but mother’s grace. Two cowlicks on his forehead hinted at two horns, not one. This had surprised the elephant, for two horns were rare in Dorobo.

Gently shaking the memory from his eyes, he reached out his broad muzzle to just catch the side of Astra as she left is legs and approached Brisa. Vaguely, through his visions of his dead son, he hears Whisper speak of ‘fate’ and ‘gods.’

The face of his son’s mother swirls behind the lids of his slow blinks. Large green eyes, an elegantly pale face masked with two slender, black lines from her eyes. Golden with cream, soft belly. A striking, mocha slash on her sides. She reaches her pale muzzle, urging the foal to nurse- “-when he hurt” these words shatter through his reverie. Gaze snaps open, aimed at Whisper.

His is still, so statuesque, as Whisper continues. From anger? Or fear of the darker memories that threaten? It is difficult for even the stallion to know. She speaks lovingly of her foal, as she should. She calls him a brother- pride? Happiness? Some warm emotion flashes through him, helping light the dark spiral which threatens to pull him. Turning her warm words to Brisa- the mare that deserved them so greatly for aiding Whisper in her foaling- she sank to her knees. Tembovu watched, still silent, as she lowered her great bulk to rest.

He knew this feeling, he could feel the fire roaring in the bottoms of his ears. It took so long to escape this hole, so much sweat and blood and effort to climb his way out. That is, until his unseeing eyes fell on Astra once more. Again, a that warm flash sparked through him- illuminating the shadows behind his eyes.

He grabbed onto the light, still watching Astra, willing it to warm him. He was so cold, despite the constant burn of rage. That fire, of revenge, burns by igniting the soul of a man, consuming it, leaving nothing but cold, blackened ash behind.

But this warmth, this heat from the beauty of new life, burned brightly and illuminated the spirit. It created more, it gave life, gave purpose. When the elephant had lost this light so long ago, he had tried to recreate it by igniting his revenge. But this had left him empty, alone.

Slowly, he was beginning to realize this.

Progress.

Finally (had it been seconds? minutes? hours?) he speaks, his voice rough from the tumultuous revelations alighting in his brain, “You are right to cherish the life you have created. For, though I know the loss of a foal-” he glances away, pain wanting him to close his eyes, but he didn’t dare for he had just resurface from memories, “-I know how- how devastating that is… But to still have a life to love, to nurture…” he trailed off uncertainly, bringing his over bright gaze back to the gathering of equines.

”Well, that’s an extraordinary treasure.” He finishes quietly, gaze casting downward.