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Tembovu
A dark bird, one Mbwene immediately recognized and sent the mental image as well as word, ’Glow-man,’ of Mesec to the King appeared in the sky before them. Though the starkly white feathers framing the bird’s dark face and bright white beak gave austere airs to the zephyr, it seemed that the night-winged bird was on his best behavior. With a flap of his wings (that settled a blanket of dark night over the King, elephant, and eagle) and a quiet and reserved click of his beak, he bade them to follow him.
With a thoughtful pause, the King did—though Mbwene had immediately trundling after the zephyr. After feeling the gaping hole of losing Edgar’s friendship (though Chico did much to fill that hole), she was very intent on the dark and brooding Lucius. So, with her trunk raised and round feet trotting, she trumpeted for his great wingbeats to slow. Tembovu shook his head slightly, a wry grin turning up the corners of his thick lips as he, too, struck a slow jog in the zephyr’s evening wake.
“Mesec,” his low voice rumbled warmly in greeting as his thickly spiraled horn tip dipped slightly in greeting—he would be in the man’s debt for finding his Mauja (despite his immortality). Though his ears and attention flicked sideways as they caught the words and sight of another—“What do you want?”. His brows raised at the rudeness in her tone, “Erthe,” this time, his deep rumble of a name was a rebuke rather than greeting, “Disrespect will get you no where.” It seemed that, to the King, he spent more time reprimanding the filly as of late. His black-rimmed ears tilted backwards at the thought, his navy eyes lingering on the pearlescent filly he saw as a daughter; a soft sigh pushed out of his nostrils.
And then he turned attention to Mesec, glancing once at Mbwene as she sidled closer to the dark zephyr, trunk raised and seeking his feathers once again. “You called?” His brows raised slightly, wondering why the man summoned the King.
With a thoughtful pause, the King did—though Mbwene had immediately trundling after the zephyr. After feeling the gaping hole of losing Edgar’s friendship (though Chico did much to fill that hole), she was very intent on the dark and brooding Lucius. So, with her trunk raised and round feet trotting, she trumpeted for his great wingbeats to slow. Tembovu shook his head slightly, a wry grin turning up the corners of his thick lips as he, too, struck a slow jog in the zephyr’s evening wake.
“Mesec,” his low voice rumbled warmly in greeting as his thickly spiraled horn tip dipped slightly in greeting—he would be in the man’s debt for finding his Mauja (despite his immortality). Though his ears and attention flicked sideways as they caught the words and sight of another—“What do you want?”. His brows raised at the rudeness in her tone, “Erthe,” this time, his deep rumble of a name was a rebuke rather than greeting, “Disrespect will get you no where.” It seemed that, to the King, he spent more time reprimanding the filly as of late. His black-rimmed ears tilted backwards at the thought, his navy eyes lingering on the pearlescent filly he saw as a daughter; a soft sigh pushed out of his nostrils.
And then he turned attention to Mesec, glancing once at Mbwene as she sidled closer to the dark zephyr, trunk raised and seeking his feathers once again. “You called?” His brows raised slightly, wondering why the man summoned the King.
the Elephant King
@Mesec
Please tag Tembovu.
