VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Spring on Tinuvel was not a sudden arrival of warmth and green growth such as it was elsewhere on the islands. Instead, it was a creeping thing, a subtle thing; the cold was not absent, but less. There was still snow in pockets here and there, but it had long since softened, its moisture seeping into the soil beneath to create a spongy surface that was actually more difficult to navigate. Especially for Valka, who by now longed for the minor discomforts of the earlier stage of her pregnancy. Where before her sleep was occasionally interrupted by the movements of the child within, over the course of the past couple days the Yakut had been unable to sleep at all. Regardless of the position she settled down in - laying prone, laying upright, and standing - she simply could not get comfortable enough to drift off.

As a result of her insomnia, the small chestnut was even more vigilant now than she had been in the days following Goose’s capture. At night, Valka remained close to the herd, watching over them as they dreamed - particularly Loire and her newly-born child. But when the sun rose, she left that duty to those who had proven themselves trustworthy and capable, such as Medusa and Cinnamon, and left to patrol the Bay. Of course, these circuits were now limited to a slow and ambling gait, and the pony-sized mare needed to stop more frequently to rest. Yet she felt that now more than ever it was important to be aware of every predator who might linger nearby, every interloping stallion who might cross their borders, and to also taste the reassuring scent-trails of Bjorn and Solomon that marked their own movements. Tinuvel’s current state of peace might have been uneasy, but it was still infinitely preferable to open war.

This morning, however, was different than the others. The sky was only just beginning to lighten when Gloriosiah moved away from the herd - not so distant that Valka was no longer aware of her presence, but far enough that the chestnut mare felt concern. She crept close enough to glimpse the mare’s figure in the faint light, and there she stood throughout the relatively short and easy process of the colt’s birth, a silent sentinel whose own stout figure could scarcely be separated from shadow. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of the tobiano’s strained breathing and caught the faint scent of blood sent a pang of fear that she lurched forward, her deep brown eyes wild with anger and fear as she sought an enemy that could be fought. A predator that would flee after the smart kick of one hoof, or perhaps an opportunistic rogue whose flanks would bear the mark of her teeth when he returned back home empty-handed.

But there was nothing, nothing save Glory and a small figure stirring beside her in the grass. And a growing pain in her own belly that had begun shortly after the other mare’s departure, but had gone ignored in the skjaldmær’s worry for the safety of one of her own. Now, her own discomfort eclipsed the combined emotions of concern and curiosity, and Valka began to pace in erratic figures, pausing once or twice to nip at the flesh of her own distended belly.

As luck would have it, of course, her labor had begun at the worst possible time - when the mare whose support she had (with great difficulty) requested was occupied with the results of her own.

The solution was found in treating her predicament much like Valka would a fight against her own kind. Though she had not trained her body, it somehow knew what to do - and so the Yakut surrendered its control willingly to her instincts, short legs folding beneath her and then straightening out again when she rolled over onto one side. Then time began to move differently - leaping forward in strange bounds with each contraction, and then slowing down between - until finally, with one last push, the skjaldmær emerged victorious in a trial as draining as any battle she’d ever fought.

What came next, however, was not as easy to figure out. Still trembling from exertion, Valka managed to pull her body upright, though she made no attempt to stand yet. Behind her, the struggles of a small pale figure went unnoticed as her dark gaze sought out Gloriosiah and the assurance that the painted mare was both safe and sound. Tired and confused, she didn't know that the true danger was to the colt she'd delivered, whose amniotic sac remained miraculously untorn, and who would suffocate without its removal.