But that spark died as his rapidly scanning gaze landing on the frozen smolder of Mauja’s ice-blue stare. The Elephant had seen many emotions flicker through those eyes in their brief (but hadn’t it been a lifetime?) relationship. He had seen pain, sadness, emptiness, short flickers of amusement. But never had he seen anger.
And there, beneath those hurt and angry eyes, was the dark-moon staff wielding between bared teeth. The cold heat of that gaze pierced his this hide, settling and weighing uneasily in his barrel, as thick legs began to move toward the Frozen Light of their own volition. Mbwene had shuffled close to his haunches, despite him mentally urging her to stay with Tsavo and Tilney. “Mauja?” His low rumble was a cacophony of intonations: surprise, uncertainty, concern, apprehension. Was there an undercurrent of dread in his voice?
What he doing? Why did he avoid the meeting (ignore the meeting?), only to appear with a silent threat of violence? Black-rimmed ears tilted back, had Tembovu been wrong in thinking amends had been made? “What are you doing, my friend?” Now his voice was deeper, stronger, and overrun with regret. He subconsciously cataloged those lingering at the end of the meeting— those who might be injured, those he would shield with his great bulk. But would it come to that?
He halted his strides before the spotted, the cold wind whipped his coarse tail around his haunches. Dark eyes scanned the pale face, a face he had seen half-charred by his own rage. His giant shoulders and neck were within reach of the Moon’s staff Mauja clenched in mouth… Perhaps it was some show of goodwill that he came into range of the weapon? The blade was sheathed, after all.
He stood, stock still and tense, face pinched and eyes darkened, staring at the dethroned king.
To clarify: the meeting is over! You may reply if you want, but there's no longer 'rounds' of the meeting!
@Elsa @Mauja