VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

The skjaldmær’s son had abandoned her side to race up and down the open stretch of grass, zigging and zagging around obstacles of his own invention. Flicking his heels into the air with sharp little squeals, his golden ears lacing back into the ivory sea of his mane. And on any other day, Valka might have joined him - Sǫlvarr took great delight in being chased, particularly since the short-legged mare was indulgent enough to allow the tobiano colt to outdistance and outmaneuver her. Of course, by the time he reached his next spring, it was entirely possible that such handicaps would not be needed. Already the boy’s legs were longer than hers - he just wasn’t as adept at using them.

As if to affirm this thought, Sǫlvarr’s legs tangled and he tumbled gracelessly to the ground.

Laughter warmed the silence and Valka lurched forward, jogging to the colt’s side. It was quickly evident that Sǫlvarr had suffered no harm in his fall, but she lowered her head anyway as if to look him over and ascertain that there were no injuries. At the last moment, however, she swiped her tongue across one cheek to hear his yelp of objection. Then, giving the tip of one of his ears a gentle tug with her teeth, Valka danced quickly beyond the boy’s reach. Managing to roll himself quickly into a stand, the small gold-and-white creature lunged forward with his blunt teeth bared indignantly, driving for his mother’s shoulder. Laughing again, the fluffy chestnut spun away from his grasp, tossed her head, and then froze.

Solomon.

Valka had seen little of the champagne stallion in the seasons that had passed since her son’s birth, but she had still been wary of any potential treachery... until recently. Time had convinced her of the Cove king’s commitment to his vow. And beyond that, the arrival of the pairing season ascertained that he would be kept busy tending to his harem - proliferating the spread of his genes and fending off any would-be suitors who sought to disrupt that process. So the Yakutian mare had allowed her vigilance to lapse, often neglecting the western border of her home altogether - save when she brought Sǫlvarr along with her. And as for their outings, she had become less guarded as each day passed undisturbed, interacting with the colt in a thoroughly undignified manner that she would not have wanted Solomon to witness. Not only because it might make her appear vulnerable, but also for the depth of emotion and attachment that it revealed.

At first, they only stared at one another across the small gulf that separated Cove and Bay. Valka’s small ears turned backwards, her dark eyes defiantly daring the stallion to utter even a single word about what he’d just seen. But when Solomon finally spoke, it was just to utter her name in greeting - and the chestnut mare, her ears emerging tentatively from the tangled mess of her mane, offered the same in turn. “Solomon,” she said, the word absent of both affection and enmity. At this point, there was little purpose in either - their relationship had never progressed to the point of friendship or mutual understanding, but the tobiano had still shown himself to be worthy of Valka’s respect.

And, no matter how she might bristle at the assumed reason for his arrival, at least it spoke well of his commitment to the child.

Sǫlvarr had initially backed away a few paces, made apprehensive by the sudden appearance of the strange male. But when his mother spoke the stallion’s name, the colt raced forward eagerly, ducking around the obstacle of the skjaldmær’s stout body. And though his teeth clacked together in unconscious appeasement, the sun-crowned boy offered his muzzle readily to the tall stallion. Sǫlvarr might never have met his sire before, but he still knew him. Far from seeking to bury the boy’s heritage, Valka had told the pale colt about the King who had sired him - and even gone so far as to omit any mention of his less-noble deeds or qualities. She was not without flaws herself, after all, and had been guilty of offenses against Solomon as well.

For the love that she bore for her son, however, Valka strove to put all that behind her. She strove, too, to watch without evidence of concern or tension while father and son had their first moment. Making no move to interfere, even as her heart ached and her breath quickened at the thought that this might be the last time that she would see Sǫlvarr. The decision was his to make.

And the burden, hers to bear.