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?