VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

The small-but-robust mare was not entirely certain how to respond to the filly’s comments about her build and height. It was discomfiting to have her differences discussed so openly, particularly when Valka had difficulty seeing herself as anything but a plain and unremarkable creature. It was the painted girl who was unusual to her eyes. Before she had come here, even the other tribes that the Yakut encountered were of similar builds; compact bodies whose shape was often buried beneath coats of shaggy hair. By comparison, Medusa’s legs looked too long and frail to support her leaner body, and her coat was so short that it scarcely seemed to exist at all. Between her features and the loud patterning of her coat, the filly wasn’t unattractive persay, but she was an unfamiliar; an alien creature beneath the scrutiny of her dark gaze.

It was stranger still, then, that Valka found herself relaxing in the girl’s company, enjoying the idleness of their conversation. Perhaps it was just gratitude for the fact that she could understand so much more now, but the small mare knew it was something more. Though she could not have expressed it in words, the Yakut sensed that they were more alike than their vastly different appearances would have her believe. The spirit and subtle defiance made evident by the younger creature’s words was more refreshing than the breeze that combed through Valka’s auburn coat; it was a relief to know that not all females in this new land were as complaisant as those she’d met.

Even if this child was the spawn of her hated captor, she could not help but to like her.

Pulled from her reflections by the sound of the bay tobiano’s voice, the would-be skjaldmær listened attentively, breaking her focus only to shake her head in response to the first question. Valka did not have the words to explain the native insult she’d used - and even if she had, she could not be certain Rougaru's daughter would receive them well. When the filly asked her of Ironclad, however, Valka snorted again - before realizing with a surge of vindication that in this small way, at least, she could make the colt rue his actions in abandoning her here.

“Ironclad is novichak - no, young. He is boy who try to act like king. Needs lesson, but when I try to teach, he get mad. I did not go far, only want to explore rest of land. Talk to other stallion. But when he find, he yell and bring here.” The fluffy mare frowned, still perplexed at the intense reaction that Ironclad had offered in response to her brief interactions with Liland. Any Yakutian stallion would have fought her for her defiance - not given what Valka had seen as a childish display of temper and then sent her away. If anything, the boy’s decision to trade her away had only proven that he did not possess the strength to stand as her king. And handing her to Rougaru was like admitting his failures to the other stallion and deeming him the stronger and more capable ruler, something that would have been unheard of among her own people. When captives were taken during the course of their wars, brief but bloody battles often ensued to ensure that their subjects were reclaimed - no matter what their true value was measured to be. No king would willingly surrender even a morsel of esteem to one of his adversaries.

More and more, Valka’s thoughts seemed to lead her toward the inevitable conclusion: that the stallions who called the islands their home were unfit to rule. They had been taught that strength was posturing at one another and restricting the freedoms of their subjects - and those whom they could not intimidate, they sought to appease. And she would neither submit nor play their games any longer. She wondered if Medusa felt the same. “So you will belong to Ironclad, and obey if he not let wander?”