They gather, as she knew they would, drawn to the pull of her magical purpose and the child’s tender soul. It does nothing to stop her, watching them with gentle eyes and quiet smile as her humming goes on uninterrupted. The child pulses with happiness, to see all these potential candidates vying for its love, a twisted sort of greed and loneliness. But the product of it all…such joy, such euphoria to find the better half of your soul. Sings as much to comfort as to quiet the crimson egg, for it wants to be bonded as much as those that gather before her. Some tentative, others bold.
 
The first is quiet, unassuming in his wariness. But he’ll find no violence from the gentle giant, only a desire to peer into their souls and weigh and judge them to be fit for the soul clasped within the crimson shell. A white maiden approaches, and the elephant gives a warm smile to see that not only is a flower presented, but to the child as well. Not that the value is important, as the little beastly is still within its shell, but a gift nonetheless. The first to speak to her directly is a golden lass, the first horned individual to nudge their way into her little group. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and it breathes through her humming unburdened but clear, directed towards she and the pink-laced child that echoes her.
 
Another child comes through, excited and thrumming with life. A soft, amused laugh escapes the mother. “Nay, child. I be but an elephant, and an elephant forever I will be. The waters of the deep have no home nor hearth for me,” and it slides off her lips in a gentle cadence as she corrects him, as motherly with her steering of his mind as she is with the continued rocking of the egg. It is almost time, she knows. Can feel them as they straggle into her little grove beneath the fading sun. Inclines her head with a smile to the dual compliments that come, and awaits them all to steady and settle before the answers the innocents seek are revealed.
 
Ears like pale grey wings flutter aside her face to draw their attention, not that she thinks she needs it with how rapt and full of desire they are. “This is a child,” she says softly, for she can speak in few other ways, and her trunk gently unfurls to present the crimson egg to them. A gentle beast, a calm and placid guardian of the new life. Ah, but they would not dare try her temper, now would they? For mothers were not meant to be tested. “I cannot care for it, tis not my place nor soul to be bound. I shan’t let it go with ease, tis not a mere object to be found.” Her first frown comes to light, disapproving, should any of them dare to think of the gentle pulsing creature in her trunk as such. “But I love it so, and I know it well. So why are you seeking its companionship, pray tell? Speak with heart, not head. A mother knows best, it is said,” and a gentle smile, somewhat coy, pulls at her features. They would do best not to lie to her. Although she speaks in rhymes, they are not riddles, and clear-cut answers are what she seeks.