Falls

VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Snow. The little red mare's gaze wandered back upward as Liland provided the word, watching the white flakes drift down in increasing numbers. Valka had thought to herself previously how strange this new language sounded - so soft that one syllable was often indistinguishable from another. But in the case of this word, snow, the gentle cadence was fitting; just hearing the word brought to mind the cold kiss of flakes on the soft skin of her muzzle and the soft cushioning blanket beneath her hooves. By comparison, the word from her own dialect, sneg, felt sharp and unsuitable. "Snow". The Yakut repeated, ears flattening in frustration as her accent harshened the word. Valka silently vowed that she would master the word before the winter was gone. For the first time since her arrival, the polinitsa was setting aside her preconceptions.

Perhaps there was hope for her yet.

Dark eyes cast about the clearing as the small mare sought inspiration for another word. While pretty enough, the word snow would see minimal use except in the cold season. Glancing back at the Fjord, a request occured to Valka - though this concept would be a bit more difficult to articulate. Liland i Ironclad...ne Valka?" The Yakut paused, frustration apparent in her expression. She doubted it was enough to make it clear that she was seeking the word for the masculine gender. Tossing the tangled tendrils of her mane from her face again, Valka decided that she would have to be a little more forward. Taking a couple steps forward - though still remaining far enough away that there was no chance of any physical contact that might make her companion uncomfortable - the auburn female pointed with her pale muzzle to indicate the stallion's distinctly male.... features.

If she had been raised by a more puritanical people, perhaps Valka would have been abashed at her actions. But the Yakut were pragmatic almost the the point of being crude; no topic was too sensitive there, no act too intimate to be performed in front of the herd. The small warriors did not know love save that of battle, but they lived and were known to express their emotions in very physical ways. It was not uncommon for a generous crop of foals to follow a particularly memorable victory, for example, as the participants - drunk on triumph - turned to each other to relieve the final tensions of the battle.

Not so for Valka. As polinitsa<, she had left such nonsense to her lessers, the common ryadovoy. The thought of coupling with a male had never particularly appealed to the mealy chestnut, especially when she had witnessed the inevitable result so many times. A big belly would just slow her down, and a slow adversary was a dead one.