“Yo.” The casual, if uncertain, greeting caused the edges of his worry-lined muzzle to turn up, easing some of the strain and shadows out of his black-marked face. His hide rippled, the sweat dripping and drying in the brisk, winter wind, eyes flicking down to watch Mbwene and Chico beneath the electric, bold mare.

Mbwene chuffed softly as the woman’s ashen muzzle gently touched her infant ear, bright blue eyes leaving Chico’s form that dove in and out of the mist to look up at the strange pupils of the Sparklight. Her small trunk reached out, to reciprocate in kind— and to investigate the long tendrils of hair ending in electric blue that fell from Roskuld’s forelock and danced around her face. But her attention was returning to the Elephant, so Mbwene’s returned to Chico.

Dark blue eyes raised as black and white face turned back to him. His hard breaths were slowly abating, and his dread diminished as the warmth in his chest reduced to a smolder— active flames of his magic dying to coals. Was it controlled?

Ears swing towards her as she spoke, his head cocking slightly in confusion. She knew nothing of the Edge, and yet she had nearly been Queen here? Mauja had thrown regency at her hooves, and yet she did not seek him out at their borders? His brow furrowed slightly— this woman was a complex conundrum belied by her plain, no-nonsense speech.

A lopsided grin began to spread in response to the sharpness in her voice as she reference the Moon. “We do not practice sacrifice or carry out cult practices, if that is what you were wondering, Ros,” a warm humor crept into his rumble and into his eyes. For all the dark power (the murders) of the Moon, the Edge was simply a herd of acceptance and autonomy.

Mbwene squeaked a greeting to Chico as he began to land on the cliffs, only to be interrupted by a surprised trumpet as he changed into another form entirely. Gone was the stinger, the wings, the horn, the mane. Instead, a black and white mass of fluff bounded towards her. She took a half-step backwards further beneath Ros, bright eyes wide and ears out, flapping in uncertainty.

But the smiling, familiar eyes of the skunk halted her backward shuffle. She snorted questioningly at his approach, but still reached out her trunk in greeting— and the explore the soft-looking fur of Chico’s new form.

“He changes?” Tembovu put a voice to the mixture of surprise and alarm that billowed through his bond with the elephant calf. But then a question was turned on him— bluntly asked without pretense. As if in reply to her question, head and light flashed once in his chest; but quickly, fiercely, he wrapped his power in icy, fearful constraints.

“I’ve a power— a magic— a destructive one that I cannot always control. I was attempting to gain mastery of it, but it’s harder than I thought,” a low sigh escaped his nostrils, “But being exhausted after such practice is better than having molten elephants run amok.” The last was said almost to himself, breath finally returning to normal as the sweat-darkened patches began to lighten from his thick winter coat.

He paused, eyes leaving the lighting bolt horn to gaze over the cliffs, where the magmaphant in question had plunged over and down. “So, how do you find the Edge?” His question was nearly absentminded, until his navy eyes (now relaxed and calm) returned to her face and intently studied it as he waited an answer.

Tembovu

you thought you could outrun the world