Kotallo leans on his remaining arm as he considers the battle map projected on the metal table. He'd planned to map out both Zenith and Regalla's activities in order to gain insight in their next move. Normally, Kotallo loves the stretch of strategy, the way clues fall together so that he may prime his attack to kill.
His mind does not seem to want to cooperate with his plans for the day. Instead, it wanders onto the subject of his commander. Commanders. Both commanders.
He’d been at Chief Hekarro’s side since almost the beginning of the Chief's glory. Out of the current Marshals, he had the most seniority. Even before the ambush, Kotallo was the one who knew Hekarro-the-Chief best. From the first Kulrut until now, Kotallo’s learned many things about his role as a Marshal… and about his commanding officer’s role as a leader.
Kotallo admired the man, then and now, both for his gift for combat and his goal of peace despite of the glory he could have had. Or, perhaps his goal of peace is because he knows what combat and conflict brings. Glory... and suffering.
Though, Kotallo supposes the position of Chief and Guardian of the Grove is glorious enough.
What Kotallo truly admires, however, is the way his commander handled the weight of leadership.
Far from prying eyes, Kotallo watched as Hekarro allowed himself to bend under the weight of handling the clans. Kotallo does not judge. If it was him handling Tekotteh, let alone the rest of the clans and the Carja, the clans would most likely have been decimated. Yet, Hekarro leads with both strength and patience, yielding and standing firm when necessary. Then, in his private moments, with or without his Marshals, he allows himself a small moment of weakness, of rest. Of bending beneath the weight of responsibility.
But Hekarro did not- does not- allow it to break him. He bends. He hangs his head, heavy and aching from his crown, and slumps against the plant covered walls of the Grove. And then he gets back up.
When Hekarro has had his time to process, Kotallo watched him pull back his shoulders and settle back into the mantle of leader. Kotallo watched as Hekarro lined his spine once more of machine metal and rouse strength to his posture in order to keep going. To keep moving, to stand up when all is weighing you down is true strength. To deny the temptation of rest in order to protect and fight is something everyone struggles with. It is a hard lesson, to learn with grace. Kotallo has learned and learned well. It is a strength that Chief Hekarro possesses. It is the kind of true strength that the Ten were known for.
And that is the driving force of Kotallo's loyalty. Yes, Hekarro took him in when his clan casted him out- exile hidden behind a veneer of honor- and that had netted Kotallo's service. Yet it is the kindness, the solid sight of the back of his chief as he protected the clans from enemies and themselves, and the steel that lines his spine as he cuts enemies down is what secures Kotallo's unwavering loyalty. It is what secures his return, it is why he allowed himself once more to be a spear to be pointed.
Aloy, too, has the same grit and sheer will behind her every move. The same ability to bend the world to her commands, to her beliefs. Her battle seems never ending. Kotallo respects that. She fights like she's been taught nothing else in her life. She, as Erend would say, kicks ass. She kicks everyone's ass, the enemy's, his own, machine ass. She even, Kotallo thinks as he tips his head upwards to hide his smirk, kicks her own ass.
But... She fights like Tenakth. Something he did not expect to find in the reclusive Nora. Soft, he had thought those from the east.
Aloy had proved him, and everyone else who had ever doubted her, wrong. She proved a whole clan wrong, when she tore the Bulwark down with the ease of someone who's pulled off the impossible so many times that 'impossible' only means 'harder'. Hair like fire, heart like hearth, fight like a blaze. Firestorm. Aloy, who is easy-going (not that he can say much, Kotallo knows he's anti-social even amongst other Tenakth) until she isn't. Calm, unsuspecting, until she isn't. People tend to underestimate her. They see the colors of the Nora, the soft, deer-like pelts she wears, and think that is everything she is and will ever be. Until she slits their throat with a skilled hand and a sharp blade. Until she destroys the wall his clan had believed unbreachable for centuries and essentially slapped Tekkoteh's face with... a boulder. Multiple boulders. Aloy spat in the face of doubt and took out its knees with her spear.
His new commander has a penchant for the impossible.
Then again, people had said uniting the Tenakth was impossible and Hekarro pulled that off too.
Kotallo glances away from the map, eyes still adjusting to the focus hub of information. He looks at the schematics for an arm, a strange mixture reluctance and hope swirling at the pit of his gut.
Perhaps Aloy would be amenable to performing another minor miracle...?