dorobo

the great plains

He had been slow on their journey back to the Edge. Both because he knew the trek from Dorobo was a long one so Imani must be tired, but also because there was a reason he had left the Edge for the Threshold to begin with. And, on their leisurely journey, he took time to point out landmarks they passed, and motion in the directions of the other herdlands as they passed: the Hidden Falls near the Threshold, the Dragon’s Throat to the South, the Aurora Basin to the far, cold north. He mentioned gods, but did not delve into them deeply as had truthfully had not had much interaction beyond the Rift Battles and the Lady Moon.

Still, though they breached into the Edge’s lands crossing over broken glass, “Mind your step,” he rumbled a warning, eyes glancing at the shard-littered ground, “We hope this will soon be replaced by glass spikes along our borders. There are labors happening around the herdlands, tasks given to us by our patron Moon Goddess, so that she may gift us protection on our borders.” He paused as they crossed fully into the misted trees, both of their hooves now, firmly, in the herdlands.

“Welcome to the World’s Edge. There are sea cliffs to the northwest, you’ll want to see a sunset on them soon. It’s like nothing in all of the Plains,” though he spoke highly of the Edge’s cliffs, he could not entirely keep the soft undercurrent of homesickness that slipped into his deep rumble. So, almost hesitantly, he quietly asked, “What was it like, after the Fall?” Though, he immediately regretted the words the moment they left his black lips.

Tembovu

He follows the plains giant, head level with the larger stallion's shoulder, a polite distance between them. The conversation as they travel though is welcome- Imani is, as ever, eager to learn about the place he has arrived and he injects questions here and there. For the most part though, he listens. His odd eyes study the landscape, drinking it in. Perhaps here his luck has turned.

At moments when he finds himself not watched, Imani studies Tembovu. He watches and he struggles to hold back his judgement. He tried to acknowledge how much he does not know about the Elephant General, if that is who this is. He has heard the name, mentioned by Banderi in reverent tones and then later spat by those who told the tale of his treachery. But what really, did he know? Not even his name until, perhaps, now. He looks to the little elephant calf that accompanies them on the journey and the knot in his chest loosens. Many years have passed. That is a lot of time to change.

The striped unicorn picks his way delicately over the glass strewn ground. The bones in his mane click with every step, a subtle rhythmic music. Imani hardly heard it anymore, as familiar with it as his own heartbeat. Once they are safely free of the glass and Tembovu stops, Imani marvels. Every place he has passed through has had it's own sort of beauty (though it could not compare in some ways to his home). Here too, he found beauty and much more of it than he expected. The mist-wreathed trees seemed strange and otherworldly. It was as though they had journeyed into a place that was not quite real.

"It is beautiful." He murmurs, taking a note to find the cliffs. He wants to see the sun set off them. He wants to see everything. Then the quiet question cuts through his eagerness. His body, previously alert and tense with eagerness and a growing, childish excitement, slides back into the attitude of stoicism that he has been trained to. It is in some ways like taking up a mantle. In this case, the mantle of story teller. It does not matter that the wounds are still raw in his heart.

Then something comes out of the shadows.  Another.  He is different in a way that is unfamiliar to the shaman, but he cannot put his hoof on it.   The words he speaks though are not unexpected.  It is, in some ways, like a homecoming.  Good or ill?  That's what they all want to know.  He doesn't flinch from it, but his prepared answer is lost when the stranger turns his attention back to Tembovu.  

Handsome?

He blinks, confused.  His stance loses it's surety, embarassed and uncertain to the sincerity of the stranger's words.  Though he did not expect to be welcome by other Dorobians, he also did not expect to become the butt of a joke so quickly.  Finally he grasps for words- part of him aches to speak the plain's tongue, but he refrains.  They are not, and so he will not.  

"I... my luck is as fortune wills it, but it is contained so it does not bleed onto others."  He shakes his head, purposefully this time, and the fetish in his mane rattles.  Despite the other's chastisment, he will not leave the king's question unanswered.  "Dorobo is broken and shrunken, but it still lived when I left."

The answer is short, not the story he had perhaps intended to tell.  He does not tell of the blood and the bones in the grass.  He does not tell of the Banderi turning on their own.  It is enough, for now.

"Talk."
@Tembovu @Kiuaji

Imani

dorobo

the great plains

Though the strangely eyed man of the plains waiting until the Elephant did not watch him, he still felt that eerily, duo-hued gaze traveling over his hide and studying him. Briefly he wondered just what Imani knew of him, if anything. Did his name live on in Dorobo? Or was it cast from the records, his existence erased by his revenge? …but it did not matter, the Great Plains were far away and he had no reason to return.

“It is beautiful,” the striped stallion’s words catch him by surprise. Beauty certainly had not been the first thing he thought when he had laid eyes on the misted trunks and glass-littered ground. The cliffs had stolen his breath with their splendor, but not their borders. So navy eyes asses the mystic stallion, wondering how many more times he would surprise the King. He had known him but for a small amount of time, and already had caught him off-guard twice.

Before he could say a word more about the Edge’s beauty, the poisoner slipped easily from the misted shadows. Delicate and dripping in grace, his childhood friend gave a coy (but layered) smile— leaving the Elephant to ponder as to just how many meanings his labyrinthine friend filled beneath the slight curve of his delicate lips.

His thick, black tail switched once in annoyance as the man of silk and gold lightly chided him for his question— mostly annoyed because he knew his question was a poor choice, and one such as the Elephant King did not enjoy having his poor choices flagged and publicly waved. “My dear Aji, I think your ghosts would be more vindictive than mine,” his thick muzzle reached out to lightly bump the slender, gilded shoulder of his friend as he alluded to those who had met their demise by his many potions.

Though his great skull withdrew, attention turning back to Imani as Aji addressed him, and a grin grew across his pale muzzle as easily flirtatious complimentary words leave the new Edge stallion confused. “Imani, this is Kiuaji, also of the Plains. He’s an acquired taste, but you’ll get used to him,” his chuckling rumble sounded after the hyena answered the serpent’s question about his fate.

Though his mirth faded as the man finally answered his own question about Dorobo. So it still stood, though the Korofi had encroached? Is that was he meant by ‘shrunken?’ He was surprised by the sadness that acutely pierced his gut at the word ‘broken’ used to describe the great Dorobo. Though it was he who had contributed to it’s fall, and it was he who had dedicated his life to destroying the Makutano… He was still Dorobian. And that pride clung deeply in veins.

He was tempted to question further, to know more about the place that had shaped him into the King he now was… but he refrained, instead glancing between Kiuaji and Imani. “We have ranks within the Edge, with different responsibilities for each. I assume you’ll follow the path of our Seers, those tasked with wisdom and paying homage to our patron Moon Goddess. But there are other ranks, such as our sleuths of whom Kiuaji is apart of. Or healers, crafters, and soldiers.” There wasn't an outright question in his words, but it was implied.

Tembovu