Common

VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Scarcely a moon’s cycle had passed since Valka had taken ownership of the Bay - but in that short time, much had changed. In particular, there had recently been an aggravating number of stallions crossing the borders of Valka’s new home. And though so far she had been successful in driving them off, the pony-sized mare was frustrated by the vigilance their persistence required of her. How was she to accomplish anything with these helvítis rassgat lurking about? And why did they even come? She could only assume that they hoped to take what she had earned through battle and blood, though so far they had shown more interest in Valka than her lands. The mare was unaware of the season and its effects on the opposite gender, let alone the possibility that it might be suitors she was attracting - not rivals.

In any case, the Yakut found herself with little choice but to place her confidence in Goose - at least for now - to help defend their home. If she didn’t trust someone, Valka would spend all of her days chasing off obnoxious stallions, and ultimately accomplish nothing. And the skjaldmær had a purpose to enact, one whose conception would take her back to her own beginning on the islands. She would need to revisit the common land of the Crossing, where males like Rougaru were known to prey upon members of the fairer sex. It was a custom that Valka hoped to end - though first, she would need to learn more about those whom she would inevitably face in her efforts to free those who lived in chains.

The Yakutian mare had made a number of swims throughout the archipelago, but the sea was rougher today than she could recall it having been in the past. Buffeted by choppy waves, it was all that the small chestnut could do to remain on course. By the time Valka arrived on the shore of the Crossing, she was utterly exhausted. For a while she did little more than stand just beyond the water’s reach, her head hanging down and sides heaving as she struggled to regain her breath. It was only when the chill of autumn had begun to settle into her bones that Valka began to move again, wishing that the sun would emerge to dry her coat. She had never enjoyed the feeling of the fluffy hairs - flattened by the weight of the water that had saturated them - clinging to every curve of her stout body.

Valka’s first impression of the commons had been less than favorable, and her second visit was no different. Though she understood more of the chaotic hive of action that surrounded her, the skjaldmær found that it only soured her opinion even further, particularly when she caught a glimpse of Ironclad’s pale figure in the distance with some tall, lean wisp of a mare. Exhaling her breath in a scornful snort, she turned her dark gaze elsewhere, and witnessed a large patchwork stallion herding a speckled red mare off, the silent language of his body an implied threat. The Yakut ached to step between them, but the pulsing pain in her flank - the last remaining testament to her battle against Goose - slowed her determined charge. And then - seemingly out of nowhere - the pale golden body of an Icelandic-blooded mare stepped into her path.

Forced to dig in her heels and stop abruptly in order to avoid the inevitable collision, Valka could only watch in dismay as the brute of a stallion made off with his captive. “Guðir fjandinn!” She spat, twisting her body nimbly so that the only contact was the warm blow of her breath on the palomino’s flanks. For an instant she glared at the other creature balefully, before finally relenting and extending her muzzle apologetically for an exchange of breaths. It was not only plausible, but highly likely that she had been so focused on the conflict that she had overlooked the stranger, though she wondered why she’d been traveling with her muzzle almost touching the ground.

“Fyrirgefðu,” she began, before realizing that she had slipped into the Old Tongue, and was unlikely to be understood. “Forgive me. I, Valka. And you?” Deep brown eyes raked the mare’s figure appraisingly as she waited for a reply, liking what they saw in the shaggy coat and stocky figure that were similar to - and yet different from - her own. It had been too long since she’d met anyone who was built to withstand the cold, and Valka felt a pang of homesickness as she recalled those whom she had lost.