VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

The two colts changed gears from boisterous and belligerent to regretful and resigned at the chestnut mare’s implied threat. But Valka found that she took no pleasure in the way the two children were so easily cowed, the last embers of their defiance extinguished as they allowed themselves to be herded along by a mare whom they would one day - and one day soon - outgrow. Unexpectedly and unbidden, a seed of pity took root in the hardened soil of the skjaldmær’s heart - such that when the golden boy attempted to bargain, Valka’s strides faltered, and then stopped entirely. And though she strove to cling to the stony front that she so often wore, the pony-sized mare felt it slip from her grasp, the stubborn set of her jaw and hard planes of her expression softening a small degree. Mikið rassgat. Only a child could invade another’s home, interrupt their sleep, and then make them feel guilty for the situation.

But the Yakutian knew what it was to be young, and so full of life that it could not be contained. She knew how in those moments, a law seemed like a challenge that was made to be defied - for the simple pleasure of expressing one’s freedom. More than once in her own youth, Valka had flouted the authority of her elders. Her streak of stubborn independence had set in motion the events that inevitably led to her being chosen as polinitsa, one of the shields of her now-dead king. The same qualities had also enabled her to survive where the rest of her people had fallen, to persevere after everything that she’d ever known was destroyed before her very eyes. How could she smother the same spark in these bright-eyed boys, who had not yet faced the harsh lessons that life would inevitably impart upon them?

And yet if she allowed them to return unattended and harm befell them in the boundaries of her land, the consequences did not bear thinking about. “Fine. I make deal. I take you to edge of Bay, then you continue alone back to parents.” Valka was no better at bargaining than the two boys, though for entirely different reasons. Once her mind had been made up, she would brook no argument, and give no ground. What she offered was less an opportunity to bicker over details, and more a single choice: they could either accept and part with her at the boundaries of their home, or they could refuse and be herded straight back to their dams’ sides, no matter how much they struggled and balked and fought.

With a final longing glance back at the stone against which she’d sheltered, the small chestnut started forward again, slowing her strides enough for the children to take the lead. She was not as familiar with the kingdom of Tinuvel outside of the Bay, after all - though it occurred to her that the two boys might be able to provide her with information about the herd they belonged to. “You say, live in Cove? What is name of your father?” Though both her voice and her dark eyes were indifferent, Valka waited with a measure of impatience for their response. Even in times of war, she had always practiced the wisdom of tallying one's enemies in name as well as number - preferably before she came to face them.

Goose had mentioned that a stallion named Warsaw lived in the Inlet to the north, and had once held governance over all the territories of Tinuvel. But she was not familiar with the name that the pair of colts had provided for their home. Valka had dismissed the possibility of a threat from the west, lulled into a sense of security by the seemingly-impassable barrier that the mountains provided. The arrival of two children was as unwelcome an awakening as the one she’d suffered only moments before. It meant more ground to cover, and more vigilance needed - and Valka was already beginning to wear thin.

Perhaps it was time to see just how serious Goose had been about contributing towards the safety and welfare of their shared home.