There was a resolve in the the Elephant King to protect the cat. Not that she needed— and she most assuredly would have scoffed and laughed and shrugged him off had he voiced aloud such a resolve. But, still, it existed in him and he kept it deep within his chest. He hadn’t known, however, that that protection had morphed to include protection from himself. Perhaps it was the flash of sun on the shiny, scared skin on her shoulder as she approached him that made him realize this. Or, perhaps it was the heat that filled his veins as she came closer and her scent filled his nostrils— the very scar he saw on her shoulder meeting his own.

Her coat slid easily against him, a warm silk to his rough hide. His neck twisted so that darkening, navy eyes could follow her every move; black-rimmed ears perked to ear her throaty hum. Though they laid back slightly as her humor fell thickly on the sudden, sensual tension that leapt up between them; however, he couldn't help the small, lopsided grin that turned up the corners of his muzzle.

But he stayed quiet, eyes that trailed her body finding more and more scars, even as she came to a halt at his left shoulder. His head swung around to face her, heads close and breaths shared as she answered his question— quickly inciting the heat in his veins to melt some parts of his resolve (mainly the parts that had to do with him not touching her). And that was entirely futile hope in the wind the moment her velvet muzzle brushed his cheek and the purring words of “petting.”

A long, slightly ragged breath left his nostrils as his bulk was suddenly leaning into her felines feminine frame. “I know cats wander, but I would prefer if my kipaka wandered with me so that I may do the petting,” his murmur was low, rumbling quietly from his barrel as her pet name fell easily from his lips. His thick neck curved more, great muscles bunching in such a close space as he reached to grab and yanked her forelock to expound in his point.

—but what was he doing? His head drew back, flames retreating and blood cooling as he realized just what he was doing, what she was doing. “Adaeze—” his voice was hoarse, abrupt, “Ada I’m—” but he wasn’t sorry for what he had done. Was that the crux of his internal conflict? He was sorry that he had hurt her, but it had been necessary… A sigh pushed out of his nostrils as his head away from her, facing forward. After a short pause, his voice finally continued (although less hoarse), “—I’m glad you came back to me.”