VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

In the manner of any wounded wild creature, Valka had withdrawn into a secluded corner of the Bay following her battle with its previous ruler. After wedging herself into the sheltered space formed between a shelf of rock and one of the sparse-but-hardy firs that dotted this landscape, the Yakut hunkered down to rest. But she slept fretfully through the night, woken frequently by the throbbing ache in her hip. By the time the sky had begun to lighten from the navy-black of night to the pinkening grey of dawn, the small chestnut was in a particularly surly mood - a state of mind that was not improved by the soft call and familiar scent borne to her by the sea’s breath.

Chyort poberi. Did the blasted creature intend to wear her down like the rushing waves of the sea eroded jagged stone into smooth pebbles? Would he continue to rise and rise again, until Valka finally fell?

Shaking the sifting of pine needles from her shaggy auburn coat, the pony-sized mare pushed her way through the low branches that clawed at her face and poked painfully into her ribs. Below her - where the sea had risen to lap at the mountain’s heels - she could see the towering figure of the buckskin standing expectantly, and cursed again. There was no aggression in his stance, but that in itself was no promise of peace. A single sign of weakness from Valka could be all it took to instigate another challenge, and this time she could not be as certain of its outcome. She would need to present a strong front, concealing any signs of pain or impairment from the stallion.

Controlling her strides carefully - lest they falter - the Yakutian mare stalked down the mountainside, dark eyes wary as she approached the Vanner. “You come. Why?” Valka questioned without formality, having no desire to engage in the dance of play of words that seemed a form of combat in themselves on these islands. And so she volunteered nothing beyond this single inquiry, keeping her small body tense in the case that there was some kind of treachery afoot. Goose had proven an honorable enough opponent in their first combat, but Valka knew how easily desperation could drive one to perform unethical acts. And though it had brought her little pleasure to pit herself against the stallion when it was creatures like Rougaru who truly deserved her ire, the skjaldmær would protect the kingdom that she now claimed until her final breath.

Nothing would ever be permitted to stand between Valka and her freedom again.