Isopia’s revelation at the reasoning for her owing her life to the Moon Goddess caught the King off-guard, to be certain. Mauja had told him of the murders surrounding the Edge’s patron goddess, shortly before the Dorobian stallion had entered Helovia. And they had remained some sort of ominous truth hovering around the Moon—a reason to thoroughly respect her, and an explanation for those that hated her.

But to kill a child? A god’s child?

Needless to say, the thought settled heavily in the base of his skull; a persistent weight to mull over some other day, when his attention was not focused on the overtly intelligent Mountain. And she did require his full attention—not in an exhaustive way, but in a ‘you-may-miss-her-meaning’ if he didn’t pay attention.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do while I am here?”

A single ear swiveled backwards in thought as she asked him—had she not just left a life filled with obligations? Obligations that made her resentful towards her father? (And, perhaps in no little part, towards herself?) His heavy skull cocked slightly studying the mare that was even in wither to himself, though more slender in frame—

And before he could give her an answer, others appeared to greet them at the beautifully crafted, black-iron gate. There was a warm greeting in the Devoted’s eyes, so much so that her words seemed superfluous, “Hello, Alysanne. Yes, the Mountain—” mental applause for not using Isopia’s name, “Has chosen to reside in the Edge with us.” His navy eyes lingered on Alysanne, feeling the coolness that percolated from her towards himself. It seemed the capricious winds that were the Queen’s feelings towards him blew south today.

The King’s brows raise at Ros’s silent greeting. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard (or not heard) the bold, pert Sparklight. Even if stumbling over words, there was usually something to be said from her lively and entertaining mouth. “Hello, Ros,” was his mildly amused reply to her non-verbal hello.

Mbwene, who had happily tottered behind with Hubris (either alongside or beneath his flapping wings), trumpeted a loud greeting to Chico, bright eyes watching his prowess in the skies. Her trunk reached towards the bronze dragon, urging him to take to the skies and show off the new, elephant-painted ink on his wing.

Tembovu, however amused by the companion antics, turned his attention back to the demigoddess, “You are welcome to pursue whichever rank interests you, Iso—Mountain,” who knew not using names was so difficult for the King. A rueful grin curved up the corner of his muzzle, though he hoped his meaning was clear: the Edge was meant to be a home, not a vocation or occupation.

His tail swayed around his hocks as his eyes drifted towards the cliffs and his small family. Safiri and her health darted through his mind.

Tembovu

The Elephant King