They say an elephant’s eyes speak the greatest language

The Elephant was still. A statue of grey ivory; of tense skin and creased brow. A dark face, lined in…desolation.

Not because of his abdication—no, that depression had been (somewhat) lifted by the tasks of his quest and the reassurances of Rexanna (both physical and emotional). The purpose that Kingship had given him was an empty hole… But time spent with both his lover and his children had made him realize how much purpose he had.

It was because of what he had seen. Or, what Mbwene had seen, and shared with him. Though the sights shared with him through their bond had been slightly… off and distorted, the great man was more concerned with what they where than the manner in which they appeared.

Navy blue eyes, which had been staring down, down, down the misted, white cliffs squeezed shut for a moment; black-rimmed ears tilted back. But his eyes didn’t stay closed for long. Behind those dark lids were visions Mbwene had seen and his pulsing, angry, hurt mind was masochistically ready to relive them (—red limbs gripping soft, golden, thin skin; gentle touches of a pale pink muzzle against a red, masculine hide—).

So, he stared. Down, down, further, further. Down those crumbling white cliffs; as crumbling as the world was around him. A tightly clenching jaw and deep, sharp breaths were the only things marking him living creature, rather than statue.

What else could make you feel so much without a word?

I wanted to be fucking mad at him.

I wanted to. I wanted to. I wanted to scream at him and punch him in the face for leaving like he did. For thinking he could just decide suddenly that he didn’t wanna be my King anymore (and goddammit, for being absolutely right in thinking he could make that kind of decision, that he could just drop something like that, a heavy responsibility on his shoulders, and still be able to live--). For accidently being the anchor to everything I’d come to love about this place, and want to protect--and then taking it away, leaving me floundering for a reason to stay General that wasn’t wrapped up in a guilt trip even though the heart wasn’t in it anymore. It was unfair--to everyone else, to me, and I guess to him too since it wasn’t his fault.

But fuck him cuz I wanted to be mad at him. Even though I couldn’t.

I just…stood there wanting to scream at him, wanting to charge at him, make him fucking fight me for doing what he did. But I just planted my ass there, motionless, staring at him hard as though wishing he’d feel my gaze boring into his asshole without having the heart to muster the growl. But then Chico rolled his eyes at me (This dumb) and he took off from my back, fluttering to the ground with two heavy wingbeats, giving a coughing growl as he looked for his Bwenny. He’ll let me be the statue in this equation; he had shit to do.

Except he stirred me, and now Tembovu would definitely know I was here and fuck I hadn’t prepared myself all the way and there was still a piece of me that wanted to tear his hide a new one and another piece of me that was larger, that couldn’t get passed the way the curves of his body slumped toward the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff face.

HEY, I wanted to scream.
“Hey,” I said, softly--and I was annoyed that there was concern there.

"In ornare vitae leo eu volutpat."

They say an elephant’s eyes speak the greatest language

Wingbeats—they cut through the mist and sent it swirling in eddies around the Elephant just as their quiet rushing of air attracted his steely attention away from the jagged rocks below. A dark navy eye glanced at the movement, an ear tilted towards it. The Elephant King didn’t want company—though, perhaps, he needed it.

Chico.

“Mbwene is… she’s not here, Chico,” was his deep, quiet, but terse reply to the manticore’s appearance. Where she was was at the site that currently shredded open old scars and wounds that the man was so incredibly tired of re-opening. A heaviness weighted his gut; a burn softly started in the center of his chest, only to crawl up along his ribs and spread along his withers and boil in his skull.

He felt Mbwene’s (distorted and altered) attention swing to him through their bond the mention of her name. And she felt her interest pique at the mention of Chico, so his deep voice rumbled again, “Though she likely needs your company now. She’s not…” he shook his head, uncertain how to describe the odd sensation he felt from the small matriarch through their bond. Instead of finishing his sentence, he merely motioned in the general direction of where he though his companion was, should Chico choose to seek her out.

But Chico’s presence had done more that make him connect to Mbwene. His great head swung away from the misted drop, finding the electric demigod’s body swirling in the mist. Small, stocky, well built and muscled in her position as General. He blinked once at her, eyes even darker—almost angry— that she interrupted his furiously melancholic brooding. “Roskuld,” his deep voice rumbled, almost harshly; but her name, her full name sounded robotic and jilted even to his own ears, which swung forwards and backwards in agitated uncertainty.

“Ros,” he tried again; and, this time, it felt more natural on in tongue. And this time, his deep voice was quieter, softer. Not as harsh, not as smoldering with self-loathing. A deep sigh— which, he found, only stoked the burning in his chest— passed in and out of his thick nostrils as he stared, unseeingly towards her for a few long, tense moments.

And then, his dark and stony blue gaze sharpened on her. “What do you see?” a derisive snort at himself as his gaze swept back towards the sea, “What do you see when you look at me?”

Ros was one he could trust. One whose opinion he valued—and one that he knew to be honest.

What else could make you feel so much without a word?

Chico wasted no time when he found out Bwenny wasn’t even here. Tembo nodded that-a-ways--where he would have to search for his tipsy lil’ teapot--and Cheek was gone in a fuckin flash of heavy wingbeats. Deuces.

And then, suddenly, I was facing Tembovu all by myself, completely alone, which wasn’t something I was banking on to begin with, so that didn’t help with my agitation. And then he goes and spits my name at me--my whole name, the shitty ending parts of it as well was the acceptable half--and he spit it in a harsh way, throwing it at me, like I had some nerve to be there or something. And it was like, good, we can throw hooves all we want to now if he really wanted to grasp for a fight like that. “What?” I asked him, a dare, meeting up to his challenge with a puffed up chest and a rigid neck, wondering idly if I should go ahead and draw Sparkmarrow--

--but then goddamit he crumpled into himself again, saying my name (Ros) like it was a name this time instead of a curse, sweeter and soft and pulling down, down, down again, just like the rest of him was starting to do again, so suddenly.

What do you see when you look at me?

I twitched my head a bit--the fuck kind of question was that? He’d gone from a prickling ball of challenge into something deeper, much more introspective and desperate, and I wasn’t in the headspace to grapple with it quite yet; my blood was still boiling for a gaddang fight. “I--” I stammered, lost for a sec, launching into an answer before I had even thought thoroughly about it. “Shit,I dunno man--” Big? Brown? Buzz-cut? But it was evident he wasn’t asking for a literal analysis (or was he?) and I spent a few seconds trying to come up with something prettier to say but I was already frustrated, so I gave another twitch of my head in annoyance, shrugging aggressively as I did so.

“I see--you, man. I see Tembovu,” I said, my irritated voice sounding out of sorts with this kind of situation--not in the least bit because it was deflating, my whole demeanor collapsing like an angry inflatable with a nail stuck in its side. “I mean...who else am I supposed to see?” What else did you want to here? I missed the mark of his quesiton, I could feel it; and I was annoyed about that, and also annoyed that there was that piece of me, much larger and deeper than I’d previously thought, that pulsed achingly with the thought he was hurting and I wasn’t doing jackshit to help with it.

“...what’s wrong, Tembo?”

"In ornare vitae leo eu volutpat."