VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

To Valka, the burn of the Bay’s frigid air in her lungs - tanged by the salt of the sea - tasted of freedom.

Without the shadow of Rougaru looming over her (both literally and figuratively), the small chestnut had changed - albeit in subtle ways. Though she still gave the deceptive impression of a creature who did not encourage intimacy, the Yakut was no longer spiteful and sour. Rather, the skjaldmær’s distance was the product of duty. So long as the Bay remained a perplexing lure for the endless parade of brutes who had determined to test its boundaries, Valka could not afford the distractions that its herd offered. They had already lost one of their own, despite her vigilance. Goose had been taken by a golden stranger who’d emerged from the sea - a brute of a stallion who shrugged off the bites and kicks Valka inflicted on him as if she were a flea. Without the draft-like stallion, she was left alone to endlessly patrol her kingdom’s borders - like some strange, fluffy bird of prey circling the motionless figure of a dying beast.

Her fault.

Valka had already learned that she had exchanged her hard-won freedom for a different manner of chain. What she wanted had ceased to matter from the moment that she claimed ownership of the Bay - but at least this was a captivity that she had chosen. And while the truth of her failure weighed heavily on the Yakutian mare, the sense of purpose that she had gained made up for the sacrifices that her position demanded of her. She was not the type of mare who could sit idle, growing fat on the lush green grasses of Paradise, or perhaps with her jailer’s foal. In rising up as guardian of the Bay, Valka had found her place in this new world, and an outlet for the violent delights that had been instilled in her from a tender young age. In time, she would find Goose, and return him where he belonged. But for now, her home needed her more.

She was navigating the stony, precarious terrain that separated her home from the Cove when Cinnamon’s call was carried to her on the sea’s breath. For a moment the red mare toyed with the idea of ignoring it; it would be a long run to reach the place where the herd often gathered, and then she would need to begin her rounds anew. But after a moment of internal struggle, she turned resignedly to the east, and quickened her pace. The concerns of the Bay’s residents were as much her responsibility as the land itself; it had been unfair of her to neglect them this long. And though she could have easily blamed this failure on the vigilance that the numerous trespassers required of her, that was only half of the reason. In truth, Valka had never adapted to the customs and hierarchy of this strange land, and was not even certain how to relate to the residents of the kingdom that she’d claimed.

The sooty figure of the stallion was visible on the outskirts of the herd when she arrived, wind-ruffled and wary-eyed. Valka did not see any imminent danger to the herd, which both comforted and concerned her. If Cinnamon was not calling upon her to defend their own, then undoubtedly his intentions were either social or political in nature - perhaps even both. “You call?” She asked in what wasn’t, perhaps, the politest greeting - but neither did her words seek to discourage. Valka was curious about what the stallion might have to say - but also afraid that he might condemn her for her recent failure.