The day was full of surprises, it seemed.

Eyes were focused upon the horizon and the late afternoon sun, the sea breeze filled with brine and the faded scents of faraway lands. The gentle wind ruffled her feathers and ran careful hands through her shortened tail and intricately plaited mane. The mare felt words rise in her throat, whispers of thanks and actualization; a monologue to reinforce what was real and what was just memory, what was important and what she needed to let go of.

Yet she was interrupted by a voice.

She did not hear his approach, nor catch his scent upon the back of the breeze, but still he was there. Orithia didn't have to turn to know that it was the Elephant King, did not have to see or touch or smell him know that it was undeniably, inexplicably him. For a moment, anger swelled within her breast - unspeakable rage battling with a sense of betrayal so profound that she was sure she might not be able to speak again. Through her mind flashed images and impressions, memories of the short and bittersweet time the pair had spent together;

Blood and sweat and violent, vibrant battle.

His head hanging low upon an icy river bank, he won't be lonely for long.

Skin on skin, thrilling relief and understanding as he helps her shoulder the weight of her heart.

Tears and another frigid pool, souls shared and naive love confessed.

Fear, anger, broken trust, and yet another woman impregnated by him - the one who sought to share her bed and the bed of others.

Pride in his actions, in his crown - her mfalme the Elephant Warrior uniting the people.

Loyalty and dedication tossed to the wayside in lieu of more important tasks, more important women.

Understanding. Final, absolute understanding that he cannot stomach her in her entirety - he hadn't the time or will to. He hadn't the desire to.



Slowly, so slowly, Orithia turned her delicately sculpted body toward the stallion who she thought she had loved, toward the man she had given her heart's hope to - only to have him drop it. After the long months, after the conscious dismissal of his affections, after forcing away the beautiful, imposing silhouette, seeing those cobalt eyes nearly tossed her into a spiral of ruination. Pain lanced through her chest - as if the barbs she had banished were returning to her heart, their wicked points threatening to tear away all she had accomplished.

Clenching her jaw, the pale woman breathed deep, ignoring the way his scent was now discernible, how her entire being reacted to it in a way that was far from angry. She had to remind herself who she was, who she had become in that absence. Who she no longer was.

Moments passed with only the soft hissing of the tide, millennia passed between the two lovers, friends, allies, strangers.

At last, Orithia found her voice, “Jalala," she knew the switch to her native Uumalahn would be noticed by the great brute, knew he would understand the symbolism behind the separation of their language. “I left to discover what else could be found in me, and," that melodic voice was soft, gentle, forgiving, "I learned that I am no broken dove to be coddled and cured by a man fascinated by fixing things. I know now, Tembovu, I understand what you tried to do for me. I appreciate it, I do, but I..."

She had to stop there, the emotions were threatening to leak through the cracks in her bones, through her skin. Would he be able to tell that it was killing her? The distance between them? The hurt in his eyes and the way that final word to his sentence floated unheard and unsaid through the air? You left me you left me you left me. Could he see the way the pain in the base of her spine crawled it's way to her skull at the way she was forcing herself to let him go? Would he understand that she couldn't be with him if he was dreaming of someone else?

Her muscles were taught, her body misinterpreting the emotional agony as an outside factor and preparing her to fight her way out of such terror.

“I cannot be one of your many," Her voice rang clear and defiant over the waves, a flash of tears in her eyes that she refused to let spill over, “I know my value, Tembovu, and I know that I do not exist for your pleasure or your pain. I am not a notch in your belt, I am not your pet project." Tail lashed against her flanks and her wings raised slightly, an unconscious increase of size, a primal instinct borne of fear - but of what? His reaction? Her own?

“I give my all to the one I love, I expect all of them in return, but you, Jalala, cannot give me everything. You were always too busy giving yourself away to those who had hurt you only to hurt them in return," The pain in her voice was evident now, but so was the anger and the betrayal - the wicked knives that had slid between her ribs ever since the moment she realized that while he might claim her as his, he would never be hers, not in the same way. “I won't let myself be hurt by you anymore. I deserve a love that is freely given, not rationed out to the prettiest face or the most pregnant - you don't get to play god with me anymore."

“Talkie.”

Tembovu & Orithia

A Dove and her Elephant