Ears fly forward as a sudden roaring, flapping, furry mass bursts onto the cliffs. Massive body tenses, hooves biting into the soil that loosely clung to the white precipices, preparing for an attack to accompany the commotion and noise— but none came. And, instead of hunkering down or retreating beneath his barrel, Mbwene was trumpeting and surging forward, towards the raucous thing.

Squiting, confused eyes just barely catch the zpzk! from winged lion to furry skunk. Mbwene’s trunk was already fisting in his black and white fur, stroking the softness, before yanking her Chico closer into a miniature elephantine hug. Her trunk ran all over him, ensuring he was still whole and intact (and entirely not searching for any ticklish areas).

The King grinned at the greeting, glad to see Mbwene’s uncharacteristic anxiety appeased. Though something else caught his eye. Something leggy, slender, and white. Heavy head swivels, navy eyes finding the yearling body of the ever-curious Erthe hovering nearby. His grin grew to a smile, head dipping to say hello to the filly he considered a daughter. It was strange how quickly the sadness in his chest was replaced with happiness; before being a father, sadness has clung to him. It had sunk her talons into his chest, gnashing hungry teeth alongside his demons as it awaited for night, loneliness, or any moment of weakness before pouncing.

But now, his grin came easy and his eyes grew light. At least, until a “Yo” broke the quiet breezes on the cliffs. His smile faded to a lopsided grin, “Hello, Ros,” his low rumble was returned her ever-unique greeting.

Navy eyes watch her, taking in her weapon as it glittered to draw his attention to her awkward shrug. He didn’t recall seeing it before, and at seeing her teeth worry her dark lip, he motioned his thick horn towards it, “I don’t remember seeing your sword before. It is an impressive weapon,” his words, like the grin that accompanied them, were genuine.

He sighed, then, releasing the tension that had banded his withers at Chico’s approach. His navy eyes flicked once to Erthe, wondering what the growing, audacious filly would think of this before continuing, “Ros, the end of Frostfall brings the end of your refuge in the Edge,” he began, his eyes darkening, “But, I’ve been glad to see you in my herd— our herd. I cannot speak for everyone,” his inflection hinted at one person in particular: Mauja, “But I know that I will miss you, as will many within the Edge, if you choose to leave us.”

His gaze drops to the entwined companions— so odd a pair. But blissfully happy in their embrace, “And I do not think Mbwene will forgive you,” his grin grew to a chuckle as he spoke, motioning towards the elephant calf in question.