VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

As skjaldmær of the Bay, the stocky chestnut had taken her second defeat by the Lagoon’s golden king with poor grace. She had acted too soon after the birth of her own child, and weakness had filled her body with a leaden weight that no amount of determination could overcome. To make matters worse, Solvarr had come within a hair’s breadth of being killed - or at the very least, gravely injured - when he had attempted to flee to her side. Thankfully, he’d paid more heed to Valka’s admonishment than he had the flailing hooves of her opponent, and had retreated to a safe distance thereafter. But the instant of distraction was all it had taken to decide the outcome of a battle she’d already been losing, and her attempt to reunite Goose with his family had failed. Now, Loire and her son were gone, and the patriarch of their family found himself alone in the Bay.

From a practical point of view, a mare and her suckling foal were a worthwhile trade for a stallion in his prime. The buckskin Vanner was invaluable as a guardian of the herd, lending both his strength and an additional pair of vigilant eyes to the full-time task. But since the softer hands of this land had begun to remold the hard clay of Valka’s characters, cold practicality was often opposed by emotion, which was equal parts powerful and tumultuous. As the Bay’s previous ruler had become a trusted confidant, Loire was now part of the Yakut’s family. Valka could no more surrender the mare willingly to the whims of a grasping tyrant than Goose could. And so she had listened, forcing herself to remain silent. Forcing her mind to remain open through the stallion’s suggested course of action, even though it opposed everything that the fluffy red mare had learned in her youth. To seek aid from an outsider was to admit weakness, to accept her inability to survive on Tinuvel. She might as well yield the Bay to those who sought to wrest it from her, and slip back into the shackles she’d once worn as Rougaru’s plaything.

But she had come, despite her reluctance and pride. She had followed the tawny-and-white stallion willingly to the Peak because Goose had asked it of her.

Still, it was no secret that Valka’s talents were focused more on warfare than diplomacy. For that reason, the skjaldmær let her companion take the lead, her stout auburn body all but concealed behind his larger golden form. And as she had done in the Bay, the pony-sized mare let him do the speaking, choosing to remain a silent observer until it seemed that her interference might be required. She knew too little of the Peak to feel confident here; her knowledge was limited only to what she had been told. Goose had mentioned that they were women, and warriors, and bowed to the will of no man. But the individual that greeted them first seemed no different than those whom she had mingled with in her wanderings - not a valkyrie of legend as she had expected, but a mare who appeared as any other. Even her dark bay coat was unremarkable; ordinary. Only the Vulcan’s bearing - and the way she spoke to Goose - indicated that there might be some truth to the tales. She did not seem particularly pleased to have a stallion visiting their sacred Peak, regardless of the fact that there were already countless male scents scattered throughout.

It was baffling, but Valka had neither the patience nor the inclination to dedicate to the solving of such mysteries. Shaking the last remnants of saltwater from her red coat, she stepped forward, the certainty of her strides and voice belying the doubts that still plagued her. “No, he not need your help. I come to ask for it, as skjaldmær of Bay.” The Yakut replied tersely. “I hear that you face Cullen before, and beat. But now he is trying to make army again, by taking freedom of others.” Her dark eyes had been studying the Vulcan’s, but flicked now toward the scattering of solitary males in the distance. Goose had mentioned prisoners, but Valka hadn’t quite understood what the stallion had meant. Witnessing it with her own eyes, however, she deduced that it was similar to what had occurred on both sides of her peoples’ war - captives being taken for the purpose of weakening the enemy.

“Better if Cullen is prisoner, and they are free,” the small mare offered with an indicative bob of her head. Though there weren’t snakes in the cold and unforgiving land from which she hailed, Valka had still learned one valuable lesson: if you killed the alpha wolf, the pack would inevitably scatter. There was no reason that the same logic should not apply in this scenario, and the Yakut was even confident in her ability to beat the Boss on even footing. But she had no desire to commit herself to being the bullying brute’s keeper once he was defeated. Not when guarding him would require keeping closer watch than she was capable of given the heavy mantle of responsibility that she already wore.