Listen to them,

Dreams of hunting alongside sister and his cub slipped through the blissfully deep murk of the prince’s slumber. They were pleasant dreams—for him. Filled with dark shadows and ominous prey; but always challenging and always caught. Dark grins twitched at the corners of his small, foal-whiskered lips.

At least, they did until his fantasy prey wasn’t caught. A swirl of ashen mist, and suddenly the lion they chased (so eerily similar to the flaming cubs along Kia’s back) vanished. And then another deep, dark rumble of ash and sister was gone as well. The colt halted in his pursuit as his consciousness slowly began to realize that he was, indeed, alone in this dream. Alone in his ashen darkness.

But never entirely alone, for as he roused he felt sister’s heat wrapped and pressed into his barrel. And his cub’s small (but growing) body shifted and leaned further into his back. Slowly his bright eyes blinked against the thankful gloom of the cave, landing limbs stretching languidly as his horn-nub head rose. Sleep blurred his vision as he stared up at two figures hovering over him and sister.

Two? It was only ever mother there.

He blinked again, black masked eyes shuttering a few times to focus on the two adults above them. “Jambo, children.” The deep, loud rumble brushed away the cobwebs of sleep as unease suddenly pierced the darkling prince’s barrel. Who was this stranger with mother?

A man, a gargantuan stallion that loomed above the small family of three. He was backlit, but the colt could make out his size and some of his markings despite it. His sharp, blue gaze became appraising, almost piercing, as he lurched to his onyx hooves on lanky, but abnormally graceful movements.

A black-rimmed ear tilted towards sister, ever conscious of her movements and presence, despite his attention remaining on the newly appeared man. A man whom he bore the same black markings as. A man who spoke in a tongue that mimicked their names. A man shared a loving touch on mother’s muzzle.

And, despite the hole the colt keenly felt since the day he had seen Ru’in with Ashamin so long ago, no warmth or relief was able to find purchase in the dark coldness of his chest. The length of his father’s cold absence outweighed his sudden presence and warmth. “So you’re the Elephant King,” his coltish voice was strong, proud, and hinted at cruelty with his coldness. His eyes, glittering and hard, stared almost daringly at his giant of a father.

children of the night—

what music they make.

Kiada & Kianzo