VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

The grullo stallion was not at all what Valka had learned to expect of males in this land. Between her words and actions, the Yakut has all but goaded him into a physical confrontation - and still Bjorn’s composure did not break. Instead, the Icelandic pointed out that the very fact that he had remained on the beach displayed his respect for her territory. Flustered and irritated, the fluffy chestnut remained silent, her lips twisted in a sour line. Valka was not accustomed to feeling like a fool, but the scarred stallion made her feel as inept as a newborn filly trying to stand on her wobbly new legs. Behind him were undoubtedly years of experience in both politics and warfare, while the skjaldmær could only boast the latter. And so far, she had been treating every trial of her newly-won leadership as if it were an impending battle - which, if Bjorn was to be believed, would only lead her to ruin.

Perhaps the time had come to let go of her irrational fear and distrust. Goose had already proven to the Yakutian mare that not every stallion was of the same mold as Rougaru or Ironclad. And little though Valka might like to accept the truth, theirs was the stronger gender. To make every single one of them her enemy was to court the inevitably of her own defeat. Pulling her body out of the half-crouched stance that showed her readiness to attack, the pony-sized creature resolved to master the same careful neutrality that Bjorn had faced her worst with. While a stranger’s motivations could never truly be known, perhaps the true wisdom lay in preserving her strength for those who had already proven themselves to be a threat.

Valka was about to swallow her pride and apologize when the grey stallion’s next words sent her carefully-composed thoughts spinning into chaos. The last remnants of her hostility drained away over the span of her next two breaths, and her dark eyes regarded Bjorn as if for the first time - seeing him from a new perspective. More than anything, the Yakut could empathize with the desire to return home - but for her, this dream was unattainable. The Bay was not the same as the land she had been born to, but it had come to represent the feeling of her home more than any physical replication of it. And she could imagine the agony that she would endure - already - in losing it. Despite herself, the chestnut mare felt a growing sympathy for the Icelandic male - and a strange desire to offer him aid.

“You will fight king of Inlet?” Valka asked, unable to conceal the note of interest in her voice. Or the concern that swam beneath the surface of her dark brown eyes. She knew little of the Inlet’s leader except what she had been told - but by the sound of it, he’d held the respect and fear of the other stallions who lived on Tinuvel. And from what the two sons of Solomon had mentioned, he was not overly pleased with her ownership of the Bay. Perhaps it would be to her benefit if Bjorn battled Warsaw - assuming that the Icelandic stallion could win, of course. “I not know much of Warsaw, but hear that he is not happy with mare as leader of Bay. If you need, I will help. If you still want to be ally with Valka, that is.”

It was a dangerous courtship, extending such an offer before Bjorn’s position was secured. Should Warsaw emerge victorious and know that she had aligned with his foe, he would undoubtedly attempt to dislodge the Yakutian mare from her hard-won home. But by the sound of it, they were destined to be enemies regardless of the choices that Valka made. And if her faith in the grullo was not misplaced, their united front could preserve the safety of both the Bay and the Inlet. Stepping forward, the small chestnut finally stretched out her muzzle to exchange breaths with the Icelandic horse, certain that the hand of the gods must have brought him to her shores. And who was she to argue with their wisdom?