VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Summer on Tinuvel was brief, as if the sun had expended too much of its energy in conquering the thick layers of ice and snow to give the island many days of its heat. By the time Valka had first arrived in the Bay, the sun-brittled grasses had already turned brown, and the hours of daylight each day were already waning. This morning, Valka had also noticed that the few scraggly birches that grew along the Bay’s northwestern borders had begun to shed their colorful plumage. While the more temperate islands undoubtedly still lingered in the final breaths of summer, Tinuvel was well on its way to another long winter. In the time it took for the moon to bve restored to fullness again, the Yakut did not doubt that her new home would see its first sifting of snow.

The prospect should have delighted the chestnut mare, but for some reason it didn’t.

Valka’s mood had declined steadily since she had won ownership of the Bay, a fact that she readily blamed on the disproportionate number of males who had seen fit to make this their home. After begrudgingly allowing the draft-like stallion who had fought her to remain, it had become more difficult to justify declining the requests of the other three males who had been lingering in the outskirts of the herd. And so they continued to linger, nettling the auburn-furred skjaldmær with their presence even though they did little more than graze and keep their respectful distance. Finally - waspish and ready to resort to violence for some measure of peace - Valka had stalked off, muttering deprivations under her breath.

The mare’s wanderings carried her almost directly west, where the Bay’s broad plain began its slow yield to the mountains that stretched out beyond its borders. Though still predominantly flat, large jagged boulders littered the landscape, as if they were pieces torn from the peaks and carried east in a giant eagle’s clawed talons - and then dropped just as carelessly. It was in the lee of one of these irregular shelves that Valka finally stopped. Basking in the quiet and solitude of her surroundings, the pony-sized mare leaned up against the cool stone, and allowed her dark eyes to drift closed.

But the fates that had conspired against Valka would not permit her to enjoy her peace for long.

Jarred from her light doze by a sudden blow, the mare’s first assumption was that Goose had decided to take advantage of her vulnerability. She had known that a second clash was inevitable - in his position, Valka would fight until the last bitter breath to win back her home - but had allowed herself to believe that the large stallion was as honorable as he seemed. “Tchyo za ga`lima?!” The Yakutian mare spat, lunging forward towards… towards… With a twist of her stout body, Valka stopped mid-attack, allowing her jaws to clip shut on empty air. Some yards in front of her, a greyish colt was picking himself up from the grass, another golden boy standing beside him.

Valka blinked, perplexed. She had not been aware of any younglings in the Bay, but they had to belong to someone, and they knew her name. “Yes, I Valka. And you are in wrong land, wandered too far from home.” Though still drowsy, the chestnut mare’s irritation was quickly returning in the face of the unexpected ambush and undesired company. So when the golden coat issued his challenge, Valka responded with by baring her teeth and snapping her almost-white tail against the curve of her flanks. It was easy enough to see that what the boy said was true - though of similar heights, proportionately the colts were longer of limbs - but the truth still irritated her. “Better at run mean nothing, unless you will always run from enemy… and coward who run always lose.”

The barely-discernable curve of Valka’s mouth might have been a smirk of her own.