Nature's great masterpiece : an elephant ; the only harmless great thing.

The King had been alone. Dangerous, dire solitude. He avoided Mauja (Mauja avoided him?) after the meeting. He avoided many after the meeting— but not Alysanne and her fury, nor Orithia and her comfort. And on his wanderings from the Edge, he had not avoided Rexanna.

But one he had not avoided, yet still had not found, was Elsa. His Queen. She was one he had sought after, yet could not find. First, irritation had irked him. Was she avoiding him because of their coupling? She had wanted it, he had needed it. It had been good fantastic. At least for him. She had seemed sated. If she wasn’t… That thought had driven him even harder to find her. (And perhaps guilt, from Alysanne. He needed to confirm whatever this was with Elsa.) But, as he continued to fail to find her, irritation and guilt were replaced with unease. Unease turned to outright concern as Edgar appeared before him, squawking wildly. Concern morphed to fear as Edgar took off into the skies, flying ferociously towards the dense forests at the furthest reaches of the Edge. Mbwene trumpeted alarmingly after him, calling for her zephyr friend to wait.

But he was gone.

And so was Tembovu, bursting into a ground-shaking gallop as he wove between the trees. His upward turned eyes and craned head resulted in him crashing into trunks and branches as the trees thickened— but they broke before the charge of the Elephant King. Bruises and cuts littered his hide, accumulating the farther he raced, but his attention was focused on the icy zephyr that danced in and out of his sight above the trees.

Mbwene was trundling behind him, but her short legs (despite moving at a surprisingly fast pace) were no match for the gargantuan strides of the King. So he left her behind, despite the smell of predatory cats, chasing the Icebound’s companion.

Dread seized his chest as Edgar dropped from view, sinking from the sky far ahead of him. Pumping legs of black and ivory pushed harder, racing towards some unknown, catastrophic fate. His demons tortured him with images of Elsa’s alabaster skin charred and sloughing, burnt by magical infernos that gave no warning or smoke.

He slid to a halt.

Despairing cobalt eyes met panicked, icy ones.

And then they fell to the small life that was partially tucked under her wing.

“Is it—“ his hours voice cracked and failed between heaving breaths as sweat began to patch on his hide. “Is it ours?” His husky words came out, driven by being denied a child not once, but three times within his life. His head dropped, to her level, slow steps bringing him closer. Hope splintered the anguish on his face muzzle reaching out to wipe a tear from her cheek.

But even the Icebound could not hold his attention, for his head fell further, nostrils flaring and finding the scent of life around this colt, amid the afterbirth. “Elsa, he’s—” there was a heat that suddenly roared in him, cutting off his words as his lips aimed to move her feathers aside. Tenderly, disbelievingly, thick lips reached to stroke the dark, slick foal-fuzz of mane. Emotion rumbled in his throat, but his eyes remained on the new life beneath the Queen’s wing and his muzzle sought to smooth over every part of this precious, marvelous life.