The heat of Tallsun and dry air of the mountains had wicked away some of the sweat that had slicked his black-slashed sides during his mad gallop to the Basin. A discordant combination played in his mind: the joy of being father to Rexanna’s children was crowded by the unease of her distance and silence. And the silently, deadly escort by Lord Deimos did little to settle the King’s edginess. His turmoil grew and and agitated with every slow, dark step that led the two sovereigns deeper and higher into the mountains. (Did Deimos go so slowly on purpose? Had the Lord already seen his own children? How well did he know Rexanna?)

Such thoughts pervaded his mind, darkening his navy eyes to black in the fading light. Tallsun’s twilights were long, wondrous things; the sun holding onto its domain for as long as it possible could with long, slender fingers of pale light. They passed by water that billowed heat and sour smells; though it must be welcome in Frostfall, during this hot season the heat bending the air around it was unwanted. The Elephant glanced, unseeing, at the hot springs; but it was the distorted sight beyond the steam that drew his attention. Heat curled golden skin into cream tresses and swirled a gilded horn into black lines of her face. But it could be no other, not with those eyes—

“Diemos,” he muttered the Lord’s name distractedly, a preoccupied nod of thanks sent in the Reaper’s direction as suddenly the King’s own strides lengthened. His great body cut through the steam and shallows of the heated waters, not bothering to walk around as he took the most direct route to her. Once clear of the steam, his navy eyes met her joyful, cerulean eyes; staring for a moment before glancing down at the smile that gently played across her lips.

His black-rimmed ears were pricked forward as his sweeping, purposeful strides slowed before her; they twitched at her joyous greeting of his name, confusion further mounting in his mind. But this wasn’t the dark, insidious jealousy that plagued him moments before. It was pure bewilderment at the Thief’s exuberant prancing and calling out.

He stopped short of her outstretched muzzle, perplexed gaze sweeping the length of his love’s face and her craned neck; his own muzzle remained near his chest— for once not reciprocating Rexanna’s embrace. His gaze finally left her, sliding past the golden woman who had promised him love and given it freely, only to then take it and hide the knowledge of his children from him. (Or so it seemed to the Elephant King.)

But his befuddled stare found only the drowsy polecat. His navy eyes stayed on the marbled creature she had trusted him to name—what a promising day that had been; the day their twins were conceived. “Yes, Alysanne sent me,” his deep rumble was quiet and somewhat hoarse; his chest was squeezed with some kind of static quivering that threatening to steal his voice but in the same breath threatening to let loose a deafening bellow.

And it was this pulsating need in his chest that pushed him past his lover and deeper into her cave. Were the circumstances different, were his chest not seized by the urgent demand of paternal instinct, he might have marveled at finally being together with Rexanna in her home. So much shared between the two lovers, yet nothing as intimate as their homes.

But, as it was, the King had eyes only for the slumbering bundles of legs and foal-fuzz that were curled around each other, nose-to-tail, in the middle of a plush nest of grasses. Confusion melted from his mind as his eyes warmed, the squeeze around his chest releasing with each breath and sleep-twitch of the foals—of his children. His broad muzzle dropped, gently tracing the slash of black along he had given his son’s side and then moved to softly stroke the white markings Rexanna had given his daughter’s face. The touches were whispers on his children’s skin, not meant to awake them from their peaceful slumber as his eyes lit with awe.

An ear flicked backwards, towards the mother of his children, “Rexanna they’re—“ his hoarse voice cracked for a moment, blue eyes bright with the words he couldn’t speak. A deep breath unevenly pulled his children’s sweet foal-scent into his chest before he continued, “They’re perfect.” His great skull raised slightly, though his eyes could not leave the sight of the sleeping foals, now seeing the young animals sleeping near them. A fisidogo? And a taidogo?

His hide suddenly twitched as the acute loneliness that swelled beneath the joy the sight of his children had brought him. He was alone in realizing the companions of his children. Just as Rexanna had been alone in birthing and raising them thus far. Thick lips pressed together slightly as his other ear swiveled to match its mate and aim towards the gilded woman who had so easily and securely found a permanent place in his chest—even if she did not wish to be there.

“What are their names?” a broken undercurrent ran through his soft, deep rumble.

---

fisidogo = hyena cub
taidogo = vulture chick