the elephant king

His children wandered. It seemed that the hot Dorobian blood in their veins did not allow them to stay safe within the Edge’s borders as he wished them to—although, if he was entirely honest with himself, there was some small part of him that knew they would never stay safe in the Edge. He, along with Hasovir and Aji, had forever been finding trouble outside the safety of their tribe’s borders. But, because of his painful past, his mind was not ready to recognize this.

His ears tilted forward just as his black nostrils flared—new scents and voices at the border…along with one that was decided familiar: Zubari. His dark, spotted son was a source of unrest for the King that he needed to settle at some point. But Edge duties and Kingship seemed to repeatedly get in the way…

He was not left long to his thoughts as his heavy strides and large body breached the gathering at the glass-ridden borders. “Zubi, you left the Edge?” were the first, concerned words that rumbled deeply from his lips. He came to stand alongside his mahogany son, head dropping down and muzzle aiming to check his small body for any injuries before his great skull and horn rose to look at the newcomers.

One was a mare, dipped in a soft but warm grey-brown and painted with stripes. Two proud horns loosely spiraled from her head—a sign of good fortune on the plains—and medium blue eyes were elegantly linked by a band of white. The stallion, contrastingly, was a behemoth—nearly as large as the King and assuredly built for battle. Haunting red eyes peered out from a skull-marked face… the Elephant felt the he had seen the man around Helovia before, but couldn’t recall a name.

The beauty was clearly Dorobian, he could tell by her markings and proud countenance—let alone the faint warm scent on her skin. And she was vaguely familiar—but he couldn’t quite place her. So, with ears perked forward, his deep voice rumbled in the traditional greeting, “Hujambo.” He chose the slightly more formal ‘hujambo’ rather than the more colloquial ’jambo’ because, as mentioned before, the Elephant couldn't quite place the woman’s face.

Then, for the sake of the stallion who was decidedly not Dorobian, he switched to the common tongue, “I am Tembovu, King here. I see you have met my son, Zubari. Are you seeking to make the Edge your home? We have others from the Plains here: Kiuaji, Adaeze, Mavuto, Tsavo, Imani…” His voice trailed off as his realized how many Dorobians had come to call the Edge their home. A slight grin lifted up the corners of his lips as pride struck through his chest; though he had caused the Fall, something greater was being built from the ashes. Some good and right and just.

His navy gaze flickered from man to woman as he aimed to lean his thick foreleg against his son’s side; it was an unconscious movement, his mind seeking to find a heartbeat and breath, a habit ever since the death of his first.

And then he realized that Ros was already there, long before him, greeting the newcomers. His massive skull ducked slightly, a wry grin across it, “Hello, Ros,” he navy eyes twinkled with amusement at himself. How anyone could miss the Sparklight was preposterous; she was pert and perky and loud—even when she wasn’t speaking, she had a presence that occupied a much larger space than her short, stout body.

And the moment Mbwene heard that greeting through their bond, it heralded a crash through the underbrush as she came a-running to see her Chico. The small elephant burst onto the scene, blue eyes searching for him.