Solomon

He should probably be thankful that the swilling tide of emotions in the pony mare quell any hostile greeting that she might otherwise have offered. She has just as many reasons to distrust him as he does her, and perhaps twice as many reasons to fear him. Still, he does not intend to harm her, the herd, or the child that she carries and so pointedly tilts his hip in response to her narrowed glare.

Eventually, she responds, after what feels like an uncomfortable silence and he wonders why she would distrust him so. While it was true that they had few positive encounters to rely on, in Solomon's eyes they had equally few negatives. It was not he who had come to her land to take from the Bay herd as she had from the Cove. Nor had the challenge he had issued on her soil been meant to cause grief. Hormones had instigated the battle, but it had been a long time coming. Each annoyance that Solomon felt at Bjorn's meddling had been released in that moment, and in truth, he was glad that it had. Dealing with Warsaw's feelings on the grullo stallion were difficult enough without his own muddying the waters.

As it was now, he walked a narrow balance of grudging respect and deep annoyance for the northern stallion.

"Good," he offers as she assures him that the solitary wolf that had threatened them was now dead. He had done his best to eradicate them, but it had not been an easy task. It was only with the help of Warsaw and his sons that Solomon had been able to do so at all. And still it had not been enough.

Aine's face swam in his mind and sobered the relaxed expression he had worn moments ago. He had not been close to the red mare, considering she had only just come back to the Cove after being offered to Warsaw's sons, but he had felt her loss deeply all the same. Whether she had wanted to or not, Aine and the rest of the herd relied upon him for their protection, and he had failed her in that. The fear he had felt as he raced from Aine to Columbina removes the last vestiges of ease that had lingered on his face, and his gaze cuts back to the not-so-distant border of the Cove.

"Mostly," he offers after a long moment, his lips downturned and ears tipping back. "One mare was lost because," his voice trails off as he considers the reason. Why had Aine been killed? Objectively speaking, she was one of the least likely targets he would have picked out of a crowd. She was young but an adult, healthy, not impaired by child or other disability, so as to why the wolves had picked her could only be attributed to her stubbornness to join the herd and their utter desperation. Regardless of the reason, he was still affected by her loss and had spent more than his fair share of time staring at her grave and contemplating better ways of handling emergencies in the future. It could have so easily been one of his own mares or children that had been taken. Solomon shakes his head before returning his gaze to the pony mare. "I don't really know, if I'm honest. She wasn't mine, so I had assumed she would be with Ironclad or his brother, but she wasn't, and they took her."

It is strange to hear her speak, as soon as the words begin flowing. Not that it is necessarily hard to understand her, but she speaks as if she is still navigating a foreign language, and his ears prick forward at the sound. Neither of their previous encounters had given much room for companionable speaking, and the memory of the last time they had come together brought the reasoning for her challenge back to mind. Valka had cited the reasoning of her challenge being based on the forced claiming of a red mare, and considering Aine was the only creature he had forced anywhere in some time, it had not been hard to work out who she meant.

Ironically, he distinctly remembered the way the pony mare had yearned toward Bjorn, after all, it had been the stray spark that had lit the bonfire of his hormone-addled mind in the Fall. And while she stood and condemned him for his behavior toward mares, she seemed smitten with a stallion whose record was just as dirty, if not moreso, than his own. The first time Solomon had ever come across the perpetually present stallion had been as they each forced a mare from the Commons.

With the thought of Aine's death so fresh in his mind, he does not linger on these thoughts for long and turns his own shrewd gaze back to Valka. "It was her, you know. The red mare you mentioned. Aine was her name." He waits to see if there is any recognition in her eyes before he continues. "She stayed with Warsaw and his herd even after he was forced from the Inlet, and she was given her freedom."

While not implicitly stated, plenty of undercurrent lurks in his words. Aine had made her choice. Granted, it was after she had been forced from the commons, but Solomon had done what he had in the best interest of all parties involved. What young filly did not want to fawned over by a set of handsome princes and, what had been at the time, a King? He does not pause long before speaking again, his gaze cutting back across the barren landscape to where he assumes her herd lies. Somewhere out there was his own red mare, the one he had taken from the Desert. Worry still plagues him with each herd member that was taken from the Cove. After losing Morgause to Xiomara, and then to the fates, he was wary of entrusting any of the mares that he had gathered to other parties. They are not visible from here of course, and he returns his gaze back to Valka without breaking his relaxed posture. The words he issues now, while pleasant, are a subtle challenge. "Is Mazarine doing well? I didn't have much time to get to know her before you took her away."

He had not come here to challenge for Mazarine today, not yet. She was, at least, still on Tinuvel where he could still check on her from afar as he made his rounds. He would not risk the health of Valka or her unborn for the sake of his vengeance, even if his pride called out for it fiercely.

Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano Stallion | 17 Hands | The Cove