the Rift


[PRIVATE] Reckoning, reconciliation, or revenge?

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#1
the elephant king
Long, thick limbs felt the uneasy groans of limestone through his ivory hooves. The white cliffs were beautiful, slowly shedding their film of ice and snow in the new season— but they were still made of the crumbling shells from long-dead sea life. Yet the King still stood, square and still, at their edge; perhaps because he felt he knew how much of his massive weight these cliffs could take. A bowed neck and glassy, navy stare belied the deep contemplation into which he had sunk; though (thankfully) his thoughts were not cast in shadow as the so usually were.

He was a father.

The thought made his hide ripple once with wrinkled grey, so intense was his elation that it drew out his larger, elephantine form to contain it. But that body would collapse the cliffs beneath him— and so he shifted backwards a few steps, in case he was unable to retain his equine body.

But, had he halted, his eyes saw the bright, clear blue eyes and the two swirls of fuzz that promised to be horns. And the wings, did he ever think he’d have a child (a son) with wings? An unconscious grin grew on his muzzle, adding creases of happiness to his face amid the many saddened lines that had grown there over the years. It lightened his navy eyes.

Hawezi, his son, named for strength. Both the strength he promised to have, and the strength he gave his sire in a time where the Elephant was faltering. His ears tilted backwards once, as thoughts of the tip of his horn against a white chest, seeing the siren ragged and worn, and standing beneath the wing of a broken dove all flashed through his mind. But the warmth in his barrel did not falter, despite all these thoughts.

He head swung to the side, unseeing eyes leaving the misted horizon to sharpen on the trees. Perhaps he should return to Elsa and his son? He had left only at her behest (he was hovering, and the militant Queen needed to rest with her child), but had insisted Mbwene stay with them. Now, though, perhaps he could return? Surely it had been long enough…. He looked to the sun, and saw that it had barely moved in the sky.

He sighed, swinging his still-soft gaze back to the sea.

tembovu
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@Mauja

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Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#2
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
but there's a language that I never spoke
and it's clogging up inside my throat


Earlier that morning . . .

He was tired. He was so tired, like he'd been chased to hell and back without a rest; there was a deeply seated ache in his entire body, in his heart, in his lungs, in his bones. He felt heavy in a way he never had before—burdened and leaden, numb aside from the pulse-rhythm throb going through his body with each labored beat of his heart.

It had left him at the edge sometime at just before dawn, stumbling and tired and for a moment he had stood there, staring drunkenly out over the edge but deciding that falling down was just too much of a hassle. He didn't have the luxury of signing off anymore; at some point he would have to clamber out of the ocean, whether that was in one piece or many, and he hadn't felt up for it on that particular early morning. Instead, he had stumbled back a ways, and for reasons now forgotten, collapsed in a small stand of shrubs, moss, and dried-brown bracken. The snow which clung to the chill of the shadows camouflaged him neatly, his spots breaking him up against the mixture of bare branches and dark juniper needles. Whether or not his state of being should be called 'unconscious' or 'asleep', he had been it almost before he hit the ground.



Sunlight brushed tenderly across his face. Its sparse warmth filtered down through the wreckage of his hiding place, and played across his body with gentle hands. Content, and more asleep than awake, Mauja soaked it up, drifting in its warm embrace. He didn't want to come to. He could hear the world just on the threshold of his awareness—the lull of the sea, the call of a gull, the whisper of the breeze and the chirping of birds. Somewhere, beneath it all, he heard his own pulse, and the slow, even sound of his sleep-breath. He knew that this precious state straddling the line of waking and sleeping could not last forever, but he clung to it as best as he could, unwilling to face the world and yet another day of tormenting himself.

The birds were louder, more insistent. The sun had moved, teasing the corner of one eye. It was just on the verge of painful, a red-tinged corona around the darkness of his eyelids. He ignored it. A minute passed. The bright spot grew larger as the sun maneuvered to glare him in the face, and when the moment of the pain overpowering his desire to remain inert came he knew that he was awake. He screwed his eyes shut vehemently, and stretched his head back, further in under the juniper bush. The shadows beneath it were cold, a sharp contrast, and with a groan he cracked his eyes open.

Sunlight bathed the edge with the sort of strength and vibrancy only found as the world turns into spring. Melted snow dripped from the tips of boughs, and the few patches which remained to coat last year's grasses looked slushy. After the blessed darkness of sleep, it just seemed too bright, and he shut his eyes again, wanting to fall back into the well of oblivion.

But of course, sleep wouldn't return. He had slept long enough, was too awake; moving his head had alerted all of his nerves of the fact that they still existed, and his muscles were beginning to let him know that they wanted to move, dammit. He wasn't sure of how much of the ache was sleep-stiffness, and how much was the lingering result of his recent inability to rest, eat, or sleep. If he had been bad off most of the time, his drunken pre-dawn suicide contemplation had been four times as bad. With another groan he began to pull his splayed limbs closer, and he raised his head just to smack it into the juniper bush. Brilliant. He fell back down again, all four hooves returning to their position of as far away from his miserable self as possible. If he disregarded the fact that he was lying on his side, it was almost like standing.

Grunting, he made another try, this time with his eyes open. That way, perhaps he could dodge the juniper, and hopefully not poke his eyes out on something else either. Not that he got very far that time around either—with his head raised he became aware of something he knew that he had seen the first time he'd opened his eyes, but for some reason had decided not to understand what it was, or the implications of it.

Tembovu was standing nearby. Not five-yards-close-he-could've-stepped-on-me nearby, but more like twenty-thirty-yards-no-chance-he's-not-seen-me-now nearby. Sleep-muddled, ravenous, and still tired to the bone, Mauja froze as he was, mostly knocked out on his side. He regarded the King silently for a moment, watching the golden highlights struck in his pelt, the blue sheen of his black parts.. from this angle, he was imposing, even given their distance.

But there was more to it than that. His stance was relaxed, like some weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Mauja was too far away to make out his face, but something told him he'd not look like he was aghast at just having set his friend on fire.

Well, he hadn't.

Yet.

By now, both of Mauja's black-rimmed ears had flipped in Tembovu's direction, and his head was back in the sunlight. The setting was too peaceful—it couldn't last, right?

"Good morning," he simply said, half-loud, ignoring the fact it was probably more like midday or early afternoon; he was too muddled in the head to be able to read the sun.
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#3
the elephant king
A bright glimmer— movement— it drew his gaze away from the sea, though his thoughts remained adrift. Navy eyes swept to the white gleam, unconsciously his mind recognized the familiarity of the snowy white spattered with black. Few within Helovia were marked as such, and only one within the Edge was—

Mauja.

Abruptly, his absentminded thoughts of foal muzzles and his son’s wings were jerked to the present, pupils constricting to pinpoints amid navy irises as his mind focused on the lateral, spotted body. Emotions roiled in him: regret, anger, unease. Far away, Mbwene’s head sleepily rose out of the snuggled nest she shared with Hawezi, wondering what brought about such feelings from her bonded.

But these emotions were belied by the sudden, impulsive grin that crossed the Elephant’s muzzle as he watched the Frozen’s flailing. Unbidden, a low and rich chuckle rumbled from his barrel as the snow leopard crashed his proud crown into a juniper bush. Pressing thick, black lips together to suppress outright laughter, his great neck arched to the side to fully watch the old queen dislodge his head from the needles and slowly raise his head.

The Elephant’s smile faded and died, hide twitching beneath the silent stare of his friend this man. Navy eyes flick to the white, black-rimmed ears that swept towards him, before roving to the mouth that voiced, “Good morning.” Only the smallest crease of lines around his nostrils told of the roiling displeasure, the hurt, that simmered beneath his impassive, blank stare. “It is past that,” was his only reply to the greeting, low voice rolling over the distance between them as his eyes flicked to the sun that was past it's zenith in the sky.

He wavered with uncertainty— to approach, to stay, to accuse, to ask? Lips press further together, making the lines on his face more pronounced as he vacillated. It was uncommon ground for the stallion, he was a man of conviction and decision. He was not often the victim of indecision. A hard, long sigh pushed out of his thick nostrils, before he finally turned towards the horizontal stallion and, “How does immortality treat you?” Perhaps his tone was harsher than intended, especially on his low timbre that was usually so warm and smooth. But, as his hard, navy stare found the spotted man, it was clear how deep that question ran.
tembovu
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Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#4
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
“It is past that.”

The words settled like a delayed slap over his face, little stones pressing in between his ribs—grit in his lungs, pushing deeper with each breath. And still, nothing happened; his ears remained forward, the wind ruffling his long forelock a little, and his eyes barely shifted. There wasn't even a hitch in his breathing to betray the depth of the something opening up in his chest—

(It felt a bit like drowning; something rushing in over his head, a shadow looming tall and blotting out the sun before pressing into his nose, his mouth, choking as it settled in his lungs like a cold, black weight. And still, he somehow breathed, but each breath was painful as it fought against the smothering wetness, struggling and struggling and struggling until it felt like his lungs would burst.)

“It is past that.” Past what? he wanted to ask (beg), to come close and peer into those navy eyes (his own blue, reflecting sorrow—) but only his even breathing left his lungs, and his eyes were deceptively calm and level.

And he hated himself for it. He hated himself for the questions burning under his skin (is it past good? or past morning?), for that thing in his lungs and his heart (heartbreak), but most of all—he hated himself for the composed way he watched Tembovu. He felt the way his eyes strained, taking up that intense, shallow gaze he used to mask his fractured, fragile psyche. He felt it, he knew the evenness of his mouth, and he hated it because it felt like lying.

It was like lying, and Tembovu was still so damn beautiful in the slanting sunlight—

“How does immortality treat you?”

It kept cutting to the bone, a sharp, fine knife flaying the skin from his flesh and carving deeper, hunting for that precious part of his anatomy shielded by ribs. That voice, so harsh; it made the question sound bitter in his ears, and, for once, evoked a visible response in him. His eyes shattered for a moment, and he glanced down, then away; his ears had fallen back in uncertainty. And he realized that he didn't have the slightest idea what Tembovu was feeling.

Or what Tembovu had ever felt, or who he was, who he had been, who he was becoming, here upon the Edge's dusty, dark throne. Mauja swallowed. It was nearly painful, a lump burning in his throat. "Immortality," he whispered bitterly, his voice hoarse, but he knew that Tembovu wouldn't hear him. Not from here. But getting up... It seemed a long way to his usual cold, lofty perch, and his legs felt weak. Was it worth trying, if he was just going to fall back down again?

Would the chasm between them stretch wider, if he didn't?

He fumbled with the buckles of the leather satchel; his teeth chattered against the metal for a moment. (When did I start shaking?) Then it released its hold, and when he lifted himself out of the shrubs it remained on the ground, along with the crystal length of the staff.

The world seemed different from up here—the shadows were darker, deeper, colder, and shaking disconcertingly.

(No, that's just you trembling—)

His heart was roaring in his ears. He felt light and weak and his jaw muscles kept spasming, bringing his teeth together with an indistinct, uneven clicking. Slowly—drunkenly—he staggered over to Tembovu.

(He was more afraid than he had ever been before.)

The blue of his eyes had gone from the peace of a winter sky to fractures and chaos, the whites visible around them; the world had morphed, the sunshine was gone, and all he could see was some dark twin shadow overlapping with Tembovu.

"Immortality does nothing to you," he heard someone say, as if at a great distance; vaguely, he was aware of his mouth working, shaping words that fell a bit too slowly from his dark lips. "What I do, I do to myself."
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#5
the elephant king
The impassive, blue, icy stare is one that the Elephant King had studied for a lifetime— at least, it felt that way in the long moments of silence (or were they short moments?) between his own words and his question. He had watched them glaze over with impassivity— that was how he had met the man; collected and aloof, even for a King, when recruiting him from the Edge. He remembered their panicked regret during their spar, after his flaming birds had scorched his side. He remembered them angry, as Ampere shouted insults while Irma lay close to death at his own, ivory hooves. He remembered them grieving and tattered, as he held the lifeless and bloody body of his own daughter. He remembered them dazed, slipping into unconsciousness as his own rage had engulfed his pristine white body in flames. But the gaze had broken only once before, that the Elephant remembered. On the dark cliffs, when the Frozen Light had laid his heart upon those sharp and jagged rocks; but it already had been rent by the abandonment of a man he loved.

But now— now he, the Elephant King with his harsh words and unfeeling glare, caused the stallions eyes to fall away; caused a crack in his ice, a backwards tilt of the ears. The Elephant, who had sent this man into agony by his own anger; who had been filled with vengeance, only to be offered a home and duty (and eventually a friendship), was passing judgement— was holding a grudge? Over a favor? A favor he was free to deny? (And he had denied him.)

Navy eyes close. Lips purse tightly together, as disappointment and anger flows dark, daunting, and traitorous through his chest and barrel. His great head drops, a long and low sigh pushing past his nostrils, as his face turns away slightly. What kind of King was he? The doubtful, poisonous thoughts hiss and twine in the dark corners of his skull.

Pale ears twitch at the sound of teeth against metal. Dark eyes flare open, a low growl at himself rumbling from his throat as his dark gaze sweeps back to Mauja, finding him rising. Finding him shaking. Are you proud, now, Elephant King?

Ears sweep back, flush with his skull, at the trembling and drunken approach of the marked man. Long limbs moved in a half-step towards him, before his temper made his muscles rigid and still. Inward anger grew, swelled, spilled out into his eyes and out from his chest as a snort. Gritted teeth ground as the clicking and chattering of Mauja’s flitted into his ears. And his gaze, after sweeping the twitching, glossy, spotted skin, squarely met the fractured, white-rimmed gaze.

Immortality does nothing to you. What I do, I do to myself.”

He shook his head once, roughly, at the slow answer to his question. His own, agitated restlessness a warped mirror of the Frozen’s quaking brokenness. “Mauja—” his voice was harsh, but no longer cutting. Emotion— betrayal? disappointment? — took the warmth from his voice, but it was not the cool impassivity from before (far, far from it). His head reached out, towards the man, as remorse and anger reduced his strong voice to a whisper, Why do you do this to yourself?”

His outstretched muzzle was an open invitation; but a contradiction. The Elephant rarely held back with touch, yet here, after his hoarse words ended, he did not touch Mauja. He wanted to hold the trembling stallion, in the same breath he wanted to shake him, and further still plunge his horn deep into his flesh as Tembovu had denied him at the meeting. So, uncharacteristically for the Elephant, he kept their hides apart, burning eyes awaiting an answer.
tembovu
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Please tag Tembovu.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#6
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Perhaps—

Perhaps breaking did not have to be so hard. Perhaps (as his thoughts finger the trigger) all he had to do was—let go. His heart was burning in his chest, disintegrating into poison and sweeping through veins rushing on panic alone, his breath so thick it barely went down into his lungs. Perhaps, if he simply caved in, shattered the ice and catapulted headfirst into his own misery, it would make him more alive. More tangible. Less strange.

But what lay on that other side of the divide, he did not know; he peered frequently through the frosted glass but all he found was .. nothing.

Perhaps, on the other side of that, he did not exist—and so he trod forever in the land of just-barely-holding-on, containing the rushing flood of emptiness where his emotions should've been.

He wondered, idly, what would happen if the fury smoldering in Tembovu's gaze broke through that wall. And part of him wanted it—to plunge headfirst into cold darkness, brandish it like a weapon in the face of this man and screech at him are you happy now, that you figured it out?. A dark undercurrent shivered through his gaze as the beast deep within stirred. The world grew a littler clearer, a little darker.

(This isn't how it was supposed to be.)

Tembovu's ears were flush to his neck, his eyes dark, blazing, hard, angry. They met: darkness and the light, and it made Mauja feel sick.

He wasn't sure if he ever had felt this small before.

(—standing before the War Council, his Sergeant hovering unhappily behind him—)

This .. worthless.

('What happened?')

As if every wrong in the world was his fault; and since when had he cared? He had come here, proud and harsh and merciless, and what was he now? What did he want now? He wanted peace but peace meant he was left with only himself to fight—

(—nothing but gentle concern as they had questioned him, his Sergeant .. dark, kind eyes, wishing desperately to understand; to fix things, if he could.)

There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight. Did peace reign here, now? He doubted it, doubted it would last, but it wasn't enough, he was trapped with his thoughts and twisted and turned and he would, forever and ever and ever.

(But he had said nothing.)

His name was a curse falling from Tembovu's dark lips, a whip lash stinging down his spine. What good had Mauja ever done? He had destroyed things his entire life, he didn't even exist, he simply took on whatever guise was needed of him... He could be their monster, he could be their savior, mercilessly trampling the struggling remnants of himself into the mud.

That large head reached out, came closer, hovered in the charged blackness between them. From the corner of his eye, Mauja studied the lethal tip of the thick weapon, followed the gleam of sunlight along its twisting length. A shudder went through his soul.

He hadn't taken immortality just to play with the perversity of mortal injuries.

But wasn't that always why he fought, these days? To feel the lash and sting of horns scoring his skin, tearing open the fine white into fragile red lines—

He had the irrational urge to scream burn me!, to throw himself at Tembovu's feet, but something lodged itself in his mind, refusing to budge.

The feeling of Roskuld pressed tight to him, head slung over his back, holding him, trying to catch him as he fell, and as The One Question Without Answer fell into the air between them Mauja's eyes slipped shut. Life was easier when confined by ice, when the heart slept under a blanket of snow, and the mind pounded mercilessly on down a set, cruel path. Less time for thinking. Less time for feeling. His accomplishments had been hollow, but it had given him purpose. Chattering teeth ground together, eyelids pressing hard over blue eyes, and, fumbling, he edged a little closer—giving in to everything screeching in his soul and simply trying to toss his head over Tembovu's back.

If I knew that, I could stop it, he meant to say.
"I love you," he croaked out instead.
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#7
the elephant king
The Elephant watched the fractured eyes and broken face of the Frozen Light— watched darkness creep across it as his trembling continued. Is that what shadows looked like when they closed on his own face? Lips pressed tighter, jaw clenched harder, as he watched and waited— an angry and rigid mountain to Mauja’s trembling, ice-dusted branches.

The silence stretched long, muscles twitched through the King’s thick neck as they grew tired of holding out his heavy head and horn for so lengthy a time. But, still, he did not move or talk; though his burning eyes did not fade in their intense stare.

But he lost the cracked, blue ice to white eyelids delicately speckled in black— and the man was still trembling. A small sigh pushed passed his lips; he had given up for an answer from this wrecked man. Ears tilted back, head began to withdraw— but then the snow leopard was edging towards him, quaking with wobbling steps.

The giant, without hesitation or second thought, took the spotted head over his back. His black chest pushed forward to meet the spotted one, his own thick neck slipping over shoulders more slender than his own, great skull resting heavily on the spotted, satin back. It was a firm embrace— firmer than any he’d given the Frozen.

“I love you.”

Silence. Shock. Surprise. His body tensed, his ears perked, splayed, and then tilted back. Nostrils flared, breathing in this shattered man, while his neck tightens against him. Thick black lips opened and closed, but no words came. Only raised brows, creased eyes, and astounded mind. Why? How? The Elephant was not worthy of love, was he? The bleary, newborn eyes of his son flashed through his skull.

“You love me?” he echoed, shock and disbelief thick in his deep voice. “I took your throne when you were weak,” though his friend had asked him to, to Tembovu it still felt as though he had taken advantage of a grieving father, “I attacked you when you tried to help me, I denied the only request you asked of me…” his rumble fades as his head shifted, muzzle brushing the man’s silken hide as his horn slipped over the muscled, snowy back. Its sharp tip aimed to rest in the soft, downy flank, black edge nestled amid black spots.

A thousand thoughts raced through the Elephant’s Kings mind. And, at the same moment, only one came to fruition. “Do you—” his hoarse rumble faltered, voice lacking it usual strength, “Do you still want—” oh, how the great Elephant stumbled, “—still want me to… to kill you?” the question ended quietly, cracking and dry. Navy eyes fell to the earth, bursting with new life from Birdsong.

Would Mauja’s death give him new life? Is that what he wanted? What he needed? A deep and steadying breath expanded his slabbed sides, “I can do that for you, Mauja,” his voice was steadier, firmer, now. Slowly, as if asking for permission, his body began to draw away from the Frozen, beginning to shift so that his great horn might plunge deep into his chest.
tembovu
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TBH I really didn't see any of this coming o_o

Please tag Tembovu.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#8
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Warmth.

A pulse pounding beneath warm skin, strong, ferocious—frightening. He was suddenly so close, his scent drifting up from the fine buckskin hairs covering his dark skin. And Mauja realized—

(He was always realizing things these days, things he had kept himself from thinking of for many years.)

—that this was probably the most honest embrace he had shared with anyone in years. He was pressed close—held close—and the darkness roared in his ears and spun before his mind's eye, but Tembovu held him in place and the world couldn't sweep him away.

So maybe this was what it was all about.

Maybe this was what love was all about, two hearts pressed together even after their words had cut like knives and carved bloodied paths in their sensitive skins.

(He had always cared what others thought, what others said—he had never been able not to. And the longer he lived, the more he realized that the closer you were with someone, the thinner your skin. One sharp word drew blood.)

And that word, why did it mean so much? Why did so much change the moment you coughed it up? It had a thousand different meanings, a thousand different hopes and dreams attached, and he—he had a brief moment of his gut tightening, wondering, did I really say that?, but what else could he have said to make Tembovu's muscles stiffen up so..? They stood close, too close, and protected by the sandy bulwark he wanted nothing more than to melt and fall into him.

Be swept up by that steadfast security, by the passion of his fiery heart, and cease to exist out here in the cold.

“You love me?”

Tense 'brows pushed together harder, as if pressing his eyes shut so tightly it was almost painful could freeze the moment and not let it move on. And still, a little pinprick of anger began to bleed in his heart. Would I have said it if I didn't mean it?

Or am I so muddled you don't trust me to know what I'm saying?
(I wouldn't blame you.)

Or do you not believe yourself worthy of being loved?

Mauja held on tighter. Tembovu's spine dug painfully into his lower jaw, but he didn't care, couldn't care, because...

Because now that he had said it, he couldn't take it back; and now that he had said it, something was cracking and shattering behind his eyelids, a pressure building in the back of his throat.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Honesty was a raw and painful thing, and his skin? It had been flayed from his flesh—everything Tembovu said was like a lance going straight for his heart. "You had every right to deny it," he managed to get out in a mumble, something of a brief laugh sounding at the end of it.

But the laugh died in his throat. It froze, grew cold, and fragile, as his entire existence did the same: Tembovu's muzzle brushed across his back, then followed by the quiet, deadly whisper of a horn tip brushing through his hair. And everything had gone silent, his eyes snapped open, tear-glazed and afraid. Each pulse throbbed through his body, the skin of his flank pulsing against that lethal, black tip.

No, he wanted to say, head still laying across Tembovu's back (—hot, it was too hot, his skin). Please, don't

I didn't mean it—

“I can do that for you, Mauja,” he was saying, and a sound like something great and metallic shattering—falling to a stone floor—rang in his head.

And the world kept disintegrating before his eyes, darkness threatening the edges of his vision, heart screaming in his chest (run away, run the fuck AWAY—) and his eyelids fluttered rapidly. It made everything seem less real. The trees were merely distant shapes, distorted by eyelashes and golden sunlight, Tembovu just a shadow on the edges of his vision; his nostrils flared but no breath passed down to his lungs.

I can do that for you, Mauja—

He can do that for you—

For me—


But he couldn't answer as Tembovu pulled away, rocked back, his thick horn aimed for his soft, pristine chest—

What he had wanted, what he had wanted so badly, suddenly frightened him—the pain frightened him. "Will it hurt?" he whispered, tangled up, lost somewhere—no no no, this wasn't—this wasn't what he wanted

But he can do it for me—

And who was he to refuse Tembovu? Who was he to—to spurn what could only be called a gift, committing such an act.. Surely, Tembovu did not want to—but he would still do it—and I believe you.

His head, robbed of the steady warmth of Tembovu's back, had risen—his eyes frozen open now, pale blue and lost (scared), a thin trickle of tears darkening his cheeks. He had no more words. He had no more time. He didn't want this—and neither do you, don't you?—and yet in some small way, he still did. Like, maybe—maybe he needed this. (Or maybe he didn't.)

His eyes, barely seeing, fell to the black horn. He couldn't say that he wanted it. He couldn't say that he didn't want it. He couldn't say that he was ready. He couldn't say that he wasn't ready. All he could do was stand there with his heart screaming in his chest, wondering why they did this to each other.

[ Like wtf? ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#9
the elephant king
Had the Elephant seen the sudden fear, the terror, in Mauja’s face when his faltering proffer rent the air between them, he would have stopped. He would have withdrawn his massive, destructive horn from the spotted, silken chest and replaced it’s sharp point with his warm muzzle smoothing over displaced hair— dark lips brushing away the pain and fear he was causing this man. And the Elephant would have held him, then. Tightly, silently apologizing for even thinking of driving his horn into unwilling, warm flesh; attempting to atone for the cold tears that slipped from Mauja’s ice blue eyes.

But, as it was, the bowed head and downcast navy eyes did not see the crystalline rivulets that decorated ink-spotted cheeks. And the dark ivory, spiraled shaft of his horn did not feel the gentle splash of those tears against its hard length. Gleaming and clear, the fearful droplets left streaks of moisture on the long black horn whose tip pressed gently on soft, giving, willing flesh.

“Will it hurt?” The whisper, nearly missed in the clear chaos that reigned in the Elephant’s mind, resting on a throne of heat that pulsed a staccato rhythm just beyond his horn’s tip, fractured through the roar of of own pulse in his ears. “What doesn’t?” His equally hoarse, tangled whisper replied, nearly lost to the cliff’s white stones and scrubs. For what hadn’t hurt the two men in their time together? In the length of time they had known each other, they had been avoiding pain, only to be overwhelmed by it time and time again (both physically and emotionally).

So, perhaps Mauja the Frozen Light was right to seek it out. And perhaps Tembovu the Elephant King was right to give it. For, if pain was inevitable, then seeking it from ones we love was, perhaps, the kindest pain of all. At least that pain, that hurt, could be smoothed over with remorseful tears and repentant whispers.

At least that pain ended in love.

And it was these knotted, confused thoughts that drew a sharp intake of breath through the man’s black nostrils. It was this twisted tenderness that tensed his thick neck as he started to push in. He felt the soft pop reverberate in the bottom of his great chest as his horn ripped through the thin skin that separated its length from the warm, pulsing heat in Mauja’s chest.

Another, shaking breath to steady him, to strengthen his resolve, pulled into shaking nostrils. And then in; in he plunged his horn though hot flesh. He felt the muscles tighten around his the length of his horn, resisting the invasion of hard, black ivory into the soft tissues. The contraction of the brawn guided his horn south in it’s journey to the man’s heart, and he felt the hard click of horn against bone as the thick shaft clipped sternum.

“I’m sorry,” the words were a whisper, maybe not even real.
tembovu
image | table


Have all my phallic imagery and suggestive phrases. I tried to write it without it, BUT I COULDN'T ;-; -hides-
Also, I can edit whatever PP I've done in this post -hides again-

Please tag Tembovu.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#10
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
This—this was it. This was the culmination of their struggles, in the gentle wash of noon sunlight, two titans so lost in their pasts they forgot about the future. All their pain, all their anger, all their frustration, all their misunderstanding, (love), pooled into a single moment in time, and fixed—carved—into memory. This was it, he realized, eyelashes clipping his vision until the world was a black-and-gold blur.

All the trust he was placing in those who had not deserved it—

He wasn't even breathing anymore. The air in his lungs had frozen, painfully, shards of ice lodged in his throat. But his heart, his heart, was running, screaming, thundering. Each thrum feeling like its last, like it was about to burst, fluttering like a trapped butterfly against the black tip of death knocking on his door.

Let me in, Tembovu had said, long after the invitation had been rescinded.
And fool that he was, Mauja couldn't say no, not to him, but he was crying all the same, tears spilling from pale blue eyes as the trembling spread from his heart to his body, until he was shivering like a leaf to the regretful promise of Tembovu's words.

It will hurt.

It will hurt in more ways than one, because as the sharp black point broke through white hairs and scarred skin his heart was already hurting.

Why do you do this to yourself?

Tembovu's words hung in the air, in his memory, in his ears, (his eyes pressed together, squeezing out the tears, mouth closed and silent as his skin split and pearly red blood escaped onto his pristine fur) a raised lash coming down hard across his sensitive skin.

Because, his mind began to gurgle as Tembovu's horn paused in its descent, I am worthless.

It felt perverse to feel his body close around another's horn in such slow-motion; undamaged veins pulsed against it, muscles parting. It hurt. It was nothing like the swift lash and stab sustained in battles, nothing like bruises. It was a slow scream, a drawn-out struggle to stay still, to take this, accept it, prove (—something, he doesn't know what, but something). Every moment, split down to the smallest nanosecond, was an agonizing eternity. Please, he wanted to say, beg, just finish it already.

Just do it, because I don't know how much longer I can hold on—

(I am afraid.)

Tears kept on falling, crystalline and innocent, testament of his regret (—why are we doing this?). And as that first, hesitant inch became another, and another, and Mauja kept on trembling, weeping, his mind whispering no no no no no—

It hurt, a sword of fire slowly shearing his flesh as the thick, ridged length of bone cut deeper and deeper, pushed in—it was obscene, one eye cracked open to see the corded muscles in Tembovu's golden-and-black haunches, the thick ridge of his neck, as they laid all their trust in the lap of a deceitful deity.

Death—

He could feel his heart, too close, too close, and his open eyes saw the haze of sunlight gild the scene of his demise, a sudden gasp of cold air scouring his lungs. Stop

is black and gold.

Blood was moving down the thick black spirals. A scream was building in his throat, threatening to burst the ice and tear through the air.

Is this—is this what you want? What I want?

He felt sick and scared. The final blow was so close (too close). And his rapid thoughts rushed, fled, collided, but something crystallized in the forefront of his mind: this feels wrong. It was nothing but a show of stupid devotion, of being too dumb to take back past words; there was nothing sweet about it, no release. Just fear and pain.

The scream burst out of him, but it came out choked; he stumbled back, left a gaping, yawning hole in his chest as the horn slid out of his body. The blood which had been trapped by it sprayed out ferociously from ripped arteries, and emptiness rolled in instead. For a moment he simply stood there, head thrown high, white forelock hanging down over a tear-drenched, terrified eye.

Then the rapidly lowering blood pressure claimed him, and with the blood coloring him crimson all the way to his knees he collapsed on them, before finally falling onto his side. The lurch going through his soul as the world spun was sickening. I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but he couldn't find his voice. Second by second, the pulse of blood coming out of his chest grew stiller and stiller, until finally, it ceased. Became a trickle. The breath which should've stopped went on, a slow, rattling sound as life refused to give way. The silence which should've spread through his veins never came as magic clashed with death. It was a perversion that life prevailed—but without help, his broken body would not rise again. With his chest torn open he would simply keep on bleeding as his heart struggled on.

A slow, sluggish darkness descended on his mind, and with each passing moment the rank smell of his fear began to fade. The only thing burning in his mind was disappointment, but he didn't know what for—that he had been too scared to let Tembovu strike his heart, or that he hadn't been strong enough to tell him that all he had wanted was to remain in his embrace?

[ omg look it's just been four days!!!! omg lol xD ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#11
the elephant king
The clenching muscles around his horn were tight, so very tight; the hard bone in Mauja’s chest resisted the Elephant’s driving, ridged spear. It said 'no, do not invade this place'; the spasming muscles pushed him out of the cold sanctity of the Frozen Light’s chest.

So tightly defiant were the tissues that he could feel the pulse of the heart he sought to pierce— but why? Blood welled, hot and slick, around his horn and dropped as small sickening promises for the vow he had kept to this man— his friend? This—this act was beyond friendship. It ran deeper than words; it ran with blood spilled on the ground that first brought them together. Yet now… now they came together for different reasons. Reasons fraught with pain and truth and heat and lov—

But suddenly the heat was gone, the resistance and tightness disappearing and a sound— a cry? a scream? some strangled, sordid moan—broke through the cacophony of confusion in Tembovu’s mind. Great skull jerked up, only to see tears— no.

Tears ran in streams from terrified eyes; blood spattered from his gaping chest, smearing in hoof streaks on the grass that now awned between them. The Elephant’s mind roared in confusion; he hadn’t done it, hadn’t felt the pulsing heart wall tremble and stop around his horn’s sharp tip. He hadn’t fulfilled his promise, kept his word to Mauja—

Mauja.

Bewildered blue eyes sweep up from the streaming blood (so glaring and insulting against the stark white of his skin). There were tears, terror haunting his face. “Mauja no—I’m—I thought you—I didn’t—” the barrage of faltering words spilled out of his black lips, eyes rapidly blinking away the red film of blood that stained his eyes and sealed his guilt.

His stumbling words halted as he stood, pinned by the weight of what he had just done that crashed down on his shoulders. And even they, as strong and broad as an Elephant’s, could not bear the gravity of his deed. He slumped for a moment, eyes burning with blood and shame, yet unable to tear his gaze away from the immortal man he’d nearly murdered. Down, down, the bleeding saint of an Elephant promise fell, a martyr stained with sins of pride or folly or both.

Thick legs which begged to buckle were jerked into motion, and once again the man found himself broken and cradling Mauja’s unmoving body. Lifeless but for the whisper of breath that immortality pulled and pushed from his chest.

Knees of ivory and ebony push into the man’s back, strong jaw hooking around the spotted neck to pull and hold it against his chest. Scarlet blood smeared across his pale muzzle— metallic and acrid to his mouth as his lips parted to ask 'why?'

But how do you ask accusing questions of the one whose trust you’ve violated and destroyed? So, instead, “Don’t die on me, Mauja,” a desolate command rumbled brokenly past bloodstained lips. Followed by a quiet murmur, “I love you,” echoing Mauja's earlier words as an excuse an explanation an apology... and a plea.


Far away, Mbwene had long since charged out of her pine needle nest, leaving the sleeping prince because she was pulled by the visceral emotions flooding her small mind through their bond. Frantically trampling on the scene, bright blue eyes are immediately drawn to the pooled blood around the two, entwined stallions. Fisting her trunk in mosses and leaves she trundled towards their collapsed forms, tiny trunk carefully pushing her makeshift clot into the shredded flesh and attempting to stop whatever blood was left from leaking out Mauja's chest.
tembovu
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Please tag Tembovu.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#12
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
[ A few days later . . . ]

He didn't remember much.

He didn't think much.

The world had slowed to a trickle, some water sliding between his fingers, one grain of sand per hour falling through the hourglass. He no longer knew seconds: he only knew the slow, desperate beating of his heart. It thundered out its frustration in the darkness.

It reverberated through his body, his world—a quake in the foundation of his being. A shock, a shake, a thrumming pulse—

He was not asleep, he was not awake. He was not unconscious, he was not conscious. He simply, was. The disappointment, which had tainted his mind for a few, precious seconds, had bled into the gray skies (—the gray earth, the gray clouds, the gray blood). And in that gray, nothing moved, for eons, for eternity, until it rumbled and shook to the slow beat of his cursed heart.

And then all was still again. (For eons, for eternity, until it rumbled and shook—)

Until it changed. Until, in the gray nothing between his heartbeats, there was something else. Something insistent. It pecked at his disconnected mind, bit and tugged and worried, and each time his pulse shook his mind it flared brighter, deeper, heavier—like the sunlight on his eyes, biting through the thin eyelids until the muscles contracted and squeezed them shut tighter.

His state of not-quite-dead grew darker when he did. The time between each pulse seemed shorter, somehow, and he was vaguely aware of another sound: the slow, shallow sound of breathing. It traveled roughly down a windpipe, then back up again in a drawn-out, rugged sigh. But, he realized, that was not it, either. That wasn't the tug on his body, on his mind, the rents like white lightning flashing hot against his mind.

No—it was a feeling much deeper, much starker, much .. more intimate. A sharp ravage, precise, and it was inside him, like his heart was a hatching egg, beak scratching on the walls of his ribcage—

(It was a sharp set of talons in the hole left in his chest, gently, gently digging out the moss, pulling as much of its remains out as they could, before the soft trunk of a tiny elephant (gently, gently—) pushed a new wad of salt-cleaned moss into the wreckage of his chest—)

A thunderclap, another lash of white lightning, and Mauja was awake. And the only thing he felt was the sting inside of him, his own body the crucible of his agony. It bit, deeper and deeper, and with consciousness his breathing grew harsher, shorter, as a pain he could not combat ran rampant through him.

He couldn't move.

He tried, but there was nothing which responded—he barely felt the furthest reaches of his own body, limbs trapped in a distance of disuse and exhaustion. Even his thoughts felt heavy, as if they were cumbersome and cold. (Frozen blood can't run—)

But he was not cold. Early morning sunlight filtered in through bushes (hadn't he been out in the open?) and played across his cheek and eye. Solid warmth was pressed against his back, moving slightly, slightly, like breathing, each intake disturbing him oh-so-slightly, and yet it felt like fire. One eye cracked open, but saw only branches and a thin sliver of blue sky. The owls were tucked in the crook of his throat, huddled together. He could feel their hearts.

He could feel the heart beating against his back, too, a slow, steadfast rhythm whispering life. 'Tembovu', he tried to say, but his tongue was thick and heavy and his mouth numb; the only thing coming past his dry lips was 'hnnngh'. (It could've been a sigh. And maybe, it was better this way, because what do you say..?)

The memories seemed dull, distant, bleached of all the color and emotion which had been so rich and vibrant, from the pristine white of his own fur to the startling red of his blood, the bronzed gold of Tembovu in the sunlight—the stench of his own fear, the cold touch of the ocean breeze as it rippled through the trees, tiny leaves and pine needles whispering...

All gone, all dull, reduced to snippets and snatches, idiocy and shame. He managed to swallow, faintly, nothing but dust coming down his throat. He felt weak and lethargic, in a way he had only felt once before—when he had been the last survivor lying in the blood-spattered snow, stars wheeling overhead as he figured each breath would be his last. But he hadn't died then, and he wouldn't die now, either.

So he tried again, and his voice came out paper-thin and brittle. "Forgive me."
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#13
the elephant king
The Elephant’s soul was not free of other’s blood. He had killed in battle; he had ripped his horn through flesh and pummeled the small, fierce Debwani soldiers beneath his great hooves. Later, after knowing their innocent, their deaths had haunted him. But in the height of battle, lives lost were somehow justified—at least to a soldier. For if one does not take lives, then one will pay their own.

However, it was an entirely different sensation for the Elephant to take the life of one he cared for. Or, at least, hear the aborted scream and see the terror on his face through the red film of his lifeblood. So the great Elephant King had been reduced to a mere man, silently praying to gods he barely knew, holding tightly to a body nearly as still as death. Nearly.

And it was that ’nearly’, along with the calm watch and dutiful administrations of Mauja’s owls that kept him pinned with the speckled, barely breathing body. There were no fretful, raw shrieks from Irma. No silent, desolate stares from Diego. No, this was entirely different from the darkness of the Deep Forest (but also painfully similar to the Elephant’s thundering, fearful heart). So, instead of succumbing to the intermittent, overwhelming waves to find a healer, the calm patience of the owls held him in place. He did not want to leave the Frozen Light—if his eyes were not there to see those slow, shallow breaths, would they stop? Would immortality fail? And the King…how would he explain such things to a healer? It would be remiss to not acknowledge that some part of his fear was directed inwards; that, if Mauja’s immorality did not stand this morbid test, then it would leave him equal parts desolate and vindictive in the eyes of his herd (in the eyes of those he esteemed).

So he stayed in a silent vigil. At some point, with the cooing urges and hooting demands of the owls combined with Mbwene’s annoyed trumpets, he had drug the unmoving lump of white flesh as gently as possible beneath the junipers that had ensnared the ex-Queen’s once proud crown before any of this catastrophe had happened.

In the shade, softly scented of dried blood and crushed juniper berries, the giant let days (or were they weeks?) pass as he watched Mauja’s slowly, blessedly moving ribs. Occasionally rising, he took moss drenched in cool sea water from Irma and softly washed the pristine neck and still face free of sweat in Birdsong’s unusual heat. Only after strong, broad clots covered the gaping hole in the scarlet-splotched chest did he turn his ministrations to cleaning the dried, rust-colored blood from the speckled skin. It took much moss (there was a great deal of blood) but, eventually, the expanse of skin was (mostly) pearly once again.

And then there was nothing left to do but wait.

And wait.

And gods cursed wait.

………….

Movement. Tembovu wasn’t certain how long he had been staring at his snow leopard. His time waiting for some sign of life beyond shallow breaths blended together. But, finally, there was movement. A moment behind Mauja’s jaw—a swallow. Black rimmed ears sweep forward, lined and exhausted navy eyes widening,Kumatakatifu, the low, hoarse curse pushed past his lips in his native tongue.

Mbwene, far more in command of herself despite the overwhelming emotional turmoil that boiled through her bonded, rose from her nest of juniper needles and twined her small trunk around the leather satchel Mauja had shed earlier. At some point, she had emptied it of his belongings and one of his owls had repeatedly filled the leather sack with freshwater for both Tembovu (who had ignored it) and Mauja (for when he awoke).

So Tembovu’s great skull dropped to Mauja’s more refined face, straining ears and tired eyes watching the glaze icy blue eyes, ‘Forgive me,’ and his face clouded as those raspy words gently slapped his face.Kafirwe salaam, the cracked rumble, another curse in his mother tongue, was pushed out by both disbelief and relief.

Instead of recognizing the hushed words that affirmed the Frozen’s life, his broad muzzle moved past the speckled face, lips aiming to barely skim cool, satin-soft skin. His roving muzzle ended above the moss-packed chest, head dropping further to try and gently press against the skin there and feel the heart beating there.

And then his head rose slightly, thick neck arcing to look back at the man’s face. “Do not ask that again of me, Mauja,” his deep voice was louder, firmer now. “Gods, I thought I had truly killed you,” this mutter was said partly to himself with a slight shake of his head. A long, low sigh pushed warm breath out his nostrils, still close to Mauja’s spotted shoulder.

Silence stretched for a long moment from the Elephant as strained, but relieved, dark navy eyes watch Mbwene struggle to drag the leather sack of freshwater closer to Mauja’s face without sloshing it onto the shaded earth.

Again, the accusatory ‘why’ bubbled on his tongue—but, again, he silenced it. He hadn’t gotten an answer before, and it was more vital to keep Mauja with him then to ask and delve in this moment. So, instead he asked, “What would keep you from doing this—from wanting this, again? What would keep you here—here, with me?”

And, again, he waited.



kumatakatifu= “holy fuck”
kafirwe salama= literally means “get ass-fucked peacefully,” but in this context is said to express more of a “shit, that scared the fuck out of me.”
tembovu
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Please tag Tembovu.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#14
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Memory overlapped with reality.

He had been this weak before.

He had woken when he should not have, washed clean of his own blood and the sins staining him (all those spots? yeah—). The water had dissolved the filth of his shame and soaked it into his skin, and the wounds had healed; the skin had knit, forming fine ridges of scars. Where there was one, there were more, sometimes as many as five in parallel unison, hot and sore with the guilt threatening to burst out from within.

They were less visible, now, faded with age and reclaimed by flawless, white fur, but the guilt and the shame remained like a heavy weight in his bones.

And now, it was his chest, hot and sore with guilt and shame and wet with salt water and broken blood vessels. Now it was his chest caging secrets, kissed with another scar-to-be, and—

These secrets

He had told his brother. He had told the Council. And he had been forgiven.

But who was there to tell, here? Who was there to forgive him? Dark, navy eyes, tired and worn but satin smooth like the night sky robbed of stars, hovered above him, set in a pale, drawn face lined in black, and ending in a soft, soft black muzzle. Those dark lips did not part in acknowledgment, did not part in forgiveness, but stayed silent after uttering their strange curse; they hovered above his feverish skin, tracing painful paths to the epicenter of his agony. He endured, because he had no other choice.

The soft, gentle press of a nose against his aching body was nearly more than he could take. Each heart beat thundered much more loudly in his ears, in his body, a thrum spreading from his chest to his legs until he began to wonder if the world had started to tremble, too—

“Do not ask that again of me, Mauja,” the voice rumbled above him, those precious eyes back in his sight once more—and the painful throb in his body backed off again, teased back into numbness. Forgive me, he wanted to say again, to demand an answer, to end this limbo once and for all—but nothing made it past his lips. Just air. It took all of his strength just to stay awake, to cling to the bleak, painful existence he had sentenced himself to.

How selfish, what he had done; was his own misery not enough? Did he have to drag someone else down with him into his blood-smeared, dark hell? Where there were corridors upon corridors, all dark and empty, all stained with blood both old and new, and scars, ice, and no matter how long you ran, how far you ran, it was just the same, always the same, until you could run no longer because your breath had run out—

What right did he have to ask Tembovu to come there with him? None, none, none at all, and the only thing he wanted to hear was that he forgave him, that—that—that somehow it would be alright.

That it was a mistake, that it was selfish and cruel and wrong,
but that he forgave him.

But those words were not what fell from Tembovu's lips, a slow question, a question that could mean anything—anything... It could—it could just mean that he was a nuisance.

But I can never do this to you again.

I could never do this to—us—again.

Was it fear, was it shame, that kept him hovering over his shoulder? Was it—oh, Mauja knew what it was like, to have someone see you and a dead body and put two and two together but not get four, and yet come slinging accusations in your face. (You know nothing of my murders, he had said to her, hurting, hurting, hurting.) It could be anything. It didn't have to be—he didn't have to care.

That old, old fear was blossoming again, like an ugly flower sitting in his chest and spreading poison. It was the reason he chose distance. It was the reason he didn't dare to love. And now, it stared him in the face, and all because Tembovu had not said those three cursed words.

But after what he had done—what he had done for Mauja (or had that all been a ruse? a chance to get rid of him once and for all, to see if the Moon God had but lied to him?).. what he had asked for was trust, and without giving it himself, when nothing but the silence asked it of him, could he ever get it in return?

"Hold me in my darkest hours," and his voice was a soft, fragile thing in the air between them. "And remind me of ..the light."

[ @Tembovu ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Tembovu the Elephant Posts: 805
World's Edge Captain atk: 7 | def: 9.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 18hh :: 10 HP: 77 | Buff: SWIFT
Mbwene :: African Elephant :: Ashen smitty
#15
the elephant king
“Hold me in my darkest hours…” the Elephant’s ears swung forward, listening to the enigmatic and faint answer Mauja gave to his fervent question. His black-masked eyes frowned slightly, lips pressing together for a few moments despite the relief that crashed repeatedly against his ribs, driven by the pounding beat of his heart. His navy eyes sweep the expanse of the pearly white, speckled body that lay against the earth; only now it was moving, filled with the small pulses of life. And then his gaze—shadowed but now slowly moving into the happy light of relief as Mauja continued to breath and beat and live before him—it returned to the clear, crystalline blue eyes that were delving deeper into shadow rather than returning with himself into light.

“If that wasn’t a dark hour, Mauja,” his deep voice finally rumbled, growing hoarse with emotion despite the levity of his words, “then I don’t know what is.” And, with the barest hints of a grin crossing his muzzle, he buried his nostrils and bottom part of his face in this man’s neck. This man, who had such a hold on the great beating organ in his massive chest, was alive. The dread, exhaustion, and heartache of the past few days crashed in one huge wave of adrenaline-charged endorphins.

And so a soft chuckle began to roll slowly, richly, from his chest. “Gods, I am glad you’re immortal,” and his chuckles grew stronger as he realized he hadn’t wanted Mauja to choose immortality, “I love you, my friend,” and just like that, simply and lacksidasically those powerful words were thrown by dizzy exhaustion between them. The giant slowly sank to his knees along the spotted back, moving his body to curve around the less mobile, healing form of the Frozen Light, though his muzzle still stayed nestled amid the plentiful, silken white locks.

And, with but a few more deep breaths, adrenaline failed and sleep took him as he held the man he had just killed, acquiescing (yet again) to another of his request.
tembovu
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@Mauja have a punch-drunk Tembo? Idk. We could wrap this up here?

Please tag Tembovu.
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#16
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
“If that wasn’t a dark hour, Mauja,” and his heart whispered, treacherously, was it? Because, as the cogs and the wheels turned, as the machinery of body and mind stubbornly defied the logical outcome of his situation—and in the way of his twisting thoughts, he compared this to what had been,

all the while knowing that comparisons is how you suck the color and joy out of life.

It's how you wilt all those little flowers with you aura and drain the warmth from the sun. It's how you take the meaning out of a moment, it's how you create distance; it's how you say your suffering isn't bad enough.

It's what makes you say in cold fury that someone knows nothing of your murders, or what makes you think that there have been darker hours, and that darker hours will surely come; Mauja was beyond fooling himself. He knew of the cold, frigid beast living deep within him, a thing not a separate entity but rather the most base, most cruel facet of his personality. It was his capacity for pure evil.

Calling it a monster was just a way to not take responsibility for himself.

“.. then I don’t know what is.”

And I won't enlighten you.


He didn't want his past clogging up his future; he didn't want.. he didn't want this to be all about him. While Mauja had lain—for all intents and purposes—dead, Tembovu had suffered, too. While Mauja had been unconscious, Tembovu had had to live with the darkness of Mauja's brooding and angst. (Like a suicide one wakes from.)

“Gods, I am glad you’re immortal,” and it smelled of forgiveness; his soul strained, yearned, begged for the words, but still they didn't come, not explicitly. There were chuckles spilling into the white depths of his thick mane, little trembling pushes from a plush muzzle against his neck. Reverberations. Ripples. Like life whispering against him, despite the way the minuscule tremors caused his pain to flare.

“I love you, my friend.”

His heart, weak and tired and working on too little fluids, spasmed weakly. It was nauseating; his vision blurred and blackened for a moment, and the world rocked as Tembovu settled against his back.

The softest of sighs expelled his agony, a sound barely worthy of being called a moan as the touch sent broken nerves screaming into his brain; breathlessly he laid in the embrace of his friend, waiting for the other's breathing to stop tormenting him. Waiting for his body to acclimatize. Waiting for the pattern of their breaths to merge. There was no question about it: Tembovu was asleep, the soft wash of his breath steady against Mauja's neck.

"I love you too," he whispered once his mind had stopped laying in agonized fragments, knowing that the other couldn't hear him.

Then he, too, fell into the dark depths of sleep.

[ The end. <3 ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here


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