"I am," he affirms with a grin. "It's good to meet you Sǫlvarr of the Bay." Words cannot describe the way his heart swells to hear Sǫlvarr say his name. For months he has agonized over the belief that his son would not know of him, and that, when the time finally came for them to meet, he would greet Solomon as a stranger. That her reluctance to allow him access to the colt would translate to Sǫlvarr and poison him to his father before the tobiano ever had a chance to get to know him. She had seemed so certain of Solomon's poor character at their last meeting that he hadn't been entirely sure if she would even uphold the concession she had finally allowed him.

And yet she had named him after Solomon, or, that is the conclusion that Solomon draws from the colt's name. It is a surprisingly soft touch he would not have expected from her, one that is filled with more meaning than he expected. Even as they walk, he cannot help but eye the proud foal that walks along at his side. He was undoubtedly Solomon's, splashed with the same white as his other children. Where some of his sons were tall and leggy, built as he had been as a young child, Sǫlvarr was stout and sturdy. Once, Solomon may have looked down upon another stallion for their height, but if there was anything he had learned from pitting himself against Valka time and time again, it was that height had very little to do with anything.

At his son's curious question, Solomon chuckles in surprise, his brow furrowing momentarily as his gaze flicks upward to Valka. Had she really told him of that day? It was one of the few times he actually had managed to best the pony mare in combat, but it wasn't a story he would have chosen to share with the colt so young. "I did, that day anyway." Again he chuckles, a bittersweet smirk twisting along his lips. "But she beat me shortly after that and brought Mazarine to your herd."

Mentioning Mazarine sobers him for a moment but he pushes onward. He had no choice but to believe that Valka had given her her freedom, as promised, and that the enigmatic red mare had simply decided that the Cove was not for her. It was disappointing, but not altogether surprising. After all, he'd hardly had a chance to get to know her before she'd been ripped away and there were few reasons for her to tie herself to his herd.

Valka answers him then, and he meets her gaze calmly, trying to gauge how serious she was. Had their roles been reversed, Solomon is not sure he could do what she is proposing. To have been side by side with the colt, seeing him grow and mature and develop his own personality, only to then offer to cripple that bond by sending him off into the world with a father you did not trust. A part of him believes that there must be some hidden agenda, some secret goal that is not immediately obvious, but he doesn't have time to ruminate over the possibilities... not yet anyway.

Sǫlvarr's enthusiasm is as heartwarming and Solomon outright laughs, amusement twinkling in his gaze. There is one word that he does not know, and while he thinks at first that it must be a child's pronunciation, it occurs to him a moment later that it is likely something Valka has taught him from her own past. "I see," he says through a grin. "That's a lot we've got to accomplish then." Dropping his head to the colt's level, he whispers conspiratorily with him, just loud enough for Valka to also hear. "You'll have to remind me what a himinborg is once we get to the Cove."

Playfully he winks at their son before raising his gaze to Valka. The way she made it sound was as if she didn't plan to see him again for many months. Was that what she wanted, or what she thought he would demand? He can't imagine what it would be like for her without Sǫlvarr here. Even though he had lived months without knowing the boy, he had other things to distract him. Other children. A bustling herd. Alliances that needed made. And it helped that he did not have a plethora of memories to torment him. Thoughtfully he turns back to Sǫlvarr again and nods as if to himself before speaking again, sharing his attention between the two of them.

"Before we go, Sǫlvarr, when should Valka come back to see you again here?" He purses his lips in exaggerated thoughtfulness for the foal's sake, although he is fairly certain that Valka will see through his ruse. "Is three days too long? Or should we shoot for a week?"

In truth, Solomon does not know if Valka will want to see him after he visits the Cove. It may be yet another cultural custom that he doesn't understand, like her previous comments about the warrior class being composed of mares rather than stallions. But he has to try, if for no other reason than out of his desire to find some sort of unification between their herds. If it took the bigger person to make the first step, he would do his best to be that in more than just physical height.

Solomon