Tembovu & Mbwene

His lips pursed in further, if sedated, amusement as Johnny (rather optimistically) hoped aloud that Jellybean would grow into a ‘big, fearsome creature.’ A black brow raised as his low voice rolled, “Perhaps she will,” though there was an obvious undercurrent of doubt in his words. “But I think her… charm fits her— and you,” his deep roll continued, while his nostrils instinctively quivered at the closeness of so delectable a smell.

Mbwene surged back forward to greet the griffin, having understood Johnny’s warm smile and felt the permission to do so flow from her bonded. She was curious to see what that naked skin and puppy-fur felt like. Was it was soft as it looked? Her trunk hoped so.

At his bright, exuberant explanation of his coat, the Elephant’s brows raised further, “Made of sugar and peppermint?” The redundant question was asked in disbelief— such delicacies were rare luxuries in Dorobo; they were one of the reasons the Makutano wanted to expand westward, towards the Plateaus. There, they had continual access to such hedonistic delights.

And so, the King, in his dark and shadowed state, did not have the mental strength to deter himself this small, harmless pleasure. With a last flare of his nostrils and a slow gesture of his head, navy blue eyes almost searching his green ones for permission, his muzzle drops and his soft tongue gently licks up the juncture of hoof and skin. Mint flavor floods his mouth, temporarily staining his tongue red, before the sugar-sweetness of his fetlock floods his mouth.

He cannot help the grin that spreads across his muzzle, “Indeed, your hooves are peppermint, my friend.” Finally the darkness shadowing his eyes lifts, leaving lightened navy pits that crinkled in the corners. There’s something about candy that just does that, you know?

His attention swings to the disappointed speak of Mbwene, who had promptly stuck her trunk in her mouth after thoroughly inspecting Jellybean. “And I think Mbwene is telling us that Jellybean is not,” the deep tone was laced with amusement.

An ear flicked backward as Mbwene suddenly fixed him with a bright, intense stare. It was time to go, he had obligations that he could no longer (should no longer) avoid in the Edge. “Thank you for sharing yourself with me, Johnny,” his brow creased just as a short chuckle escaped him, realizing just what he had said— but he forged on, “Though I must be returning to the Edge. A King can only shirk his duties for so long before someone notices.” With a dip of his horn and a half-hearted grin, he faded into the Grove’s trunks.