A great, diligent portion of him, made up of blood and fire, darkness and death, was ready to run a blade through the other King’s chest for trespassing, for wanting to see their Thief, for obliterating their defenses – it crawled and seethed, displeased that none of these decadent desires would be able to thrive amongst the murk, the gloom, the damnation whittling away at his bones. Instead, he was forced to play the calm, composed monarch again, shackled and tethered to diplomacy lines instead of those aching, beautiful moments of ruin and condemnation (when riots became background din and the thunder of his heart, of his sinew, of his flesh, of his bones, were all-consuming sounds, and the whispers of abominations, of heresy, of sedition plagued all of his movements; true, Mephistophelean poetry). His prose could only be composed in the fine sketches and assignations of a bestial monster come to barbaric command, his severe gaze lashing on tightly to the larger stag’s stare – listening to the heaves, the billowing breaths, the fury, the finality, the strange, anxious, whims of apprehension coiled and notched upon the heavy, cumbersome boughs. What vexed the giant? He thought at first Rexanna had caused some sort of mayhem or knew important information – held secrets she wasn’t meant to hear, know, and required coercion to keep them tightly locked, and if Tembovu intended her harm, yearned to threaten her, to ensure everything was gated and secured, the savage fathoms of the Reaper would refuse the notion entirely –
 
But the words that followed were not what he’d imagined.
 
Rexanna has had my children and I must see them.
 
He blinked steadily, once, twice, a bit stupefied and dumbfounded, bewildered, caught along a snare he hadn’t seen, noted, or realized. The phrase formed itself over and over again in his head, as if his skull wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard everything correctly, but they continued in the same strange way, rambling about the gilded brigand and her children. Truly, he wasn’t sure what to say or do about the matter. The idea that Rexanna had meandered her way into the Elephant King’s heart (or at least…chambers) hadn’t ever crossed his mind – but he rarely fraternized or gossiped with his people and subjects. He didn’t normally care about whom they cherished or where they found another, and no one questioned him either. If they caught him staring at rainclouds or standing beneath a wailing storm, they said nothing. The icy Lord preferred it that way, was content with the privacy, respected everyone from a safe, impenetrable distance. To a part, he could comprehend and understand Tembovu’s alarm – he’d been there to witness both his children born, excited, overwhelmed, rendered proud and content all at once. He’d loved them from the moment he set his eyes upon their tiny figures. The titan before him had yet to realize that. He chuckled a little, a vague, minute sound that was soon swallowed on a sigh, brow continuing its arch, lips trying not to gesture into some form of a smile. “Congratulations,” he bowed to the new father, then swindled his skull to the right, indicating the direction of Rexanna’s usual haunt. “I can lead you to her cave.”