VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Of all the dangers that might be found on Tinuvel, the greatest was inevitably the elements themselves.

Though sweltering and miserable in the summer, life on Atlantis was simple by comparison. The land remained green and lush year-round, and frequent rainstorms had left water pooling in just about every depression in the earth or crevice in the rock. Of the predators, only the shadowcats were to be feared, and few were bold enough to brave a herd as large as Rougaru’s in search of sustenance. And even the worst of the storms could be weathered with ease in the jungles of Paradise, where the dense canopy provided ample protection against the lashing winds and rain.

On the other hand, life in the Bay was a constant battle against the forces of nature. Though autumn had only just begun on the more temperate islands, the wind that blew from the north held the bite of winter in its breath. Valka was fortunate in that her dense, fluffy chestnut coat did not allow for its frigid teeth to penetrate to her skin. Even in the worst of the winter, the downy hairs of her inner coat would trap the warmth of her body and repel the cold of her surroundings. Her pale-blonde mane and tail had also begun to lengthen, and would add a second layer of protection against the harsh winter to come. Finding sustenance would be a struggle that required digging through a dense blanket of snow, but the benefit of the Yakutian mare’s smaller stature was that she did not need to eat as much as the other members of the Bay’s herd.

In short, Valka had been made to survive a land as unforgiving as Tinuvel, and was untroubled by thoughts of the coming winter. But there was something that bothered her, lingering like a pricking itch just beneath the surface of her skin. And though the small mare should have been exhausted from her friendly spar with Goose, a restless energy filled her limbs, and would not allow them to remain still. Instead of joining the herd near the scraggly stand of junipers that would have provided her some shelter from the wind, Valka found herself pacing up and down the Bay’s shoreline and chasing the barely-tangible threads of her thoughts.

A strident call rose above the gentle murmur of the waves, breaking the tiny chestnut’s reverie. Before it had faded into silence, she was already running as fast as her stout legs could carry her, her dark gaze focused on the unfamiliar figure of a stallion. Valka bristled at the intrusion, presuming that the stranger had come to challenge her for the kingdom that she had scarcely claimed. Checking her speed just enough to avoid a collision, the skjaldmær bared her teeth and lunged for the grullo stallion. In the moment before she might have lashed out, however, Valka suddenly twisted away, withdrawing a short distance from the icelandic male.

““Ubiraysya! Byrjaði!” She snarled, stamping one small hoof. As short as Valka’s temper had become of late, it was the only warning this boðflenna would get.