VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Though it could never be eased in its entirety, some of the tension that lingered beneath the smaller mare’s fluffy coat ebbed when Medusa welcomed her. Being a ruler had led to some unforeseen trials, such as the difficulties of meeting the needs and expectations of so many individuals. In adapting herself to suit what each sought from her - and their time in the Bay - Valka had become a multi-faceted creatures. Not that the Yakut’s nature would permit her to become false. In essence she remained true to herself, but in practice she had learned when to compromise and when to stand firm. She had learned to comfort as well as protect, to see with clarity when others were blinded. The troubles of the herd were her own, and she responded to any threat on a personal level. But sometimes it felt as if she were at risk of losing herself. That the individual she’d been - the dreams she’d dreamt, the memories she carried - before she rose up as skjaldmær were selfish, and must be abandoned for the sake of those she guarded.

Only with Medusa did the stocky chestnut feel as if she were more than a figurehead; more than the title that she carried. Only with the young tobiano did Valka feel like she could be herself without letting someone down.

As if to drive home the point that their thoughts often ran in parallel, Rougaru’s daughter commented on the other’s undesired popularity. Valka rolled her eyes in agreement, feeling the irony that she should long - however briefly - to be unimportant again. Especially where it came to the Cove’s king, whose presumed claim upon the son she’d borne grated the Yakut despite - and perhaps even because of - the validity of it. From what the Bay’s leader had come to understand, the champagne stallion had heirs enough to occupy him in his own land, and mares enough to chase each autumn. Why, then, had he come to the Bay? Why claim her as he had, and then think to extend that claim beyond the regrettable lapse of self-control that it had been?

When Medusa had first fled to the Bay to escape her Prince, Valka had been thoroughly perplexed by the entire situation. Now, she thought she understood a little better how Ironclad’s betrothed had felt about the confusing tangle their relationship had formed - so hopelessly ensnared by Solomon’s frustratingly persistent and possessive nature that she would have happily fled from him, as well. If only such a thing were possible.

Valka had remained silent up until this point, permitting herself a few moments to soak in the ease of Medusa’s company. But when the young woman commented on her son, the skjaldmær’s dark eyes narrowed and she snorted disdainfully, not the least bit fooled by the assumed innocence in the girl’s voice. Whether it had been intended as a jibe or not, Medusa’s words had struck home as one - not least of all because of the fact that Solvarr’s existence had complicated everything. She should hate the boy, and be glad to send him off to his sire once he came of age. But instead, Valka loved him fiercely, and could not bear the thought of honoring her promise to Solomon. “He is much like father,” she conceded in a tone that was far from prideful of this truth. Had there been little of the stallion to witness in the boy, her affection for Solvarr might have been easier to confess. But every time she watched her son play, she was confronted by the truth of his longer legs, of his pale coat - marked with gold - that was not unlike Solomon’s.

She might have shared more, if their solitude had continued. About how Solvarr had been neither planned nor desired, but was now cherished even above the land that she’d fought to claim. About the confusing way that her hard feelings towards Solomon were softening, despite the desperation with which she clung to them. But before she could speak again, Valka’s dark eyes were draw unerringly towards the approaching figure of the young stallion, as if the threads of their destinies had never been properly severed. And without conscious command, the Yakut moved to place her stocky figure in front of the painted mare, forming an obstacle between Ironclad and the prize that he had come to reclaim.

“Medusa has always been allowed to go if she want. She is here in Bay because she choose, Ironclad - and if she want to stay, I will fight to protect her freedom.” Having spoken her piece, Valka fell silent to allow the younger mare to speak for herself. It had rankled her to have Ironclad claim that the Inlet was the girl’s home - particularly since Medusa had chosen to come here to the Bay. But regardless of the dim fear that she felt - that her friend might choose to leave her - the skjaldmær would not fall prey to the same selfish behavior of those who had already failed the girl. As much as she might yearn to keep Rougaru’s daughter where she was safe, Valka had always emphasized the importance of strength and independence to the painted dun.

The young mare would be responsible for choosing her own path forward - but whether she remained in the Bay or moved on, the fluffy chestnut would always protect her as vigilantly as she guarded her own son.