since his first nervous question to trajan, delight's kept his eyes peeled for the fabled king of the forest. he's yet to speak to mato on it, doesn't know the lore, but he doesn't need to, knows wholeheartedly theres a elk king to be found.

uka was not the only to catch that wondrous wail eclipsing their own howl. in the darkness of the hidden moon delight is his own eclipse: dark fur made inky by shadow, his eyes two glinting silver rings around blown wide pupils. he wants - no he must find the king beast, it's his job as chronicler, will be his job. but uka's beaten him to the scene and he bites back his disappointment as he moves beside his pack mate, sliding past him to get a closer look, expression tranformed by wonder and reverence.

he nearly forgets uka again, nearly doesn't notice the larger form slipping past him, getting closer, and - no, though, this is something for delight, because he has to see it, has to record it as true, has to tell mato - uka looks back at him, breaking his thought chain. he licks his lips, and nods once, pressing forward just slightly, drinking in the foggy visage. he thinks any minute now the god-creature is going to vanish, or else demand something new of them, so he gathers all his courage and does the only thing he can think of, murmuring "thank you," in soft, most-un-delight-like tones. he lets the and please don't kill us in our sleep stay implied, hung silently in the air between them.

he has no idea what uka is saying, it sounds like - gibberish, meaningless syllables strung together. a foreign language, probably. delight twists, briefly averting his eyes from the wondrous visage to fix his newly founded packmate with a look, possibly meant to be stern and failing. really, he can't fault even uka for wanting to speak, to know more about the god-creature - he himself has so many questions burning his throat.

unbeknownst to the wisp, the celestial phenomenon above is beginning to shift as the eclipse nears its end. the shadows change around them, but delight feels it's magic of some sort, it must be, something of the elk king's power. suddenly he feels urgent as he steps forward, eyes glowing bright with need. "we are tindómë," the androgyne says in hushed tones - maybe the elk king doesn't care at all, but it seems only right to introduce them - "i am our chronicler -" (a bold claim!) "- please, tell us - what do you want from us?"

he isn't expecting a spoken answer - maybe a sign of some sort - but he can't help but feel the god-creature's gaze on him is searching, can't help but wonder if he is being measured for worthiness (and if he isn't worthy o god he will remake himself into something light and good). the elk king snorts - derisive, disinterested, accepting, approving? - and turns away from him. del shifts, thinking at first to follow - but remembers uka and stalls: he and only he should be the one to pursue the elk and learn its secrets, but he would shoot himself in the foot to stop uka from following him now. lowly he hisses, "let him go," just in case, just in case, and lays low into the ground, letting his belly scrape the dirt as the sky brightens overhead.

like fog in the night or the darkened sky above the elk vanishes, leaving behind only him, his antagonist, and the slowly shifting shadows beneath them as light re-enters the sky. delight releases a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and looks at uka - or rather, past him - with silver-wide eyes. "he - the king elk is real," he says, hushed, more to himself than the other man, thinking of his joking conversations with trajan. "and i met him."