VaLkA

mare / four / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Only two days had passed since the birth of her child, but so much had changed that Valka felt as if it had been at least a moon. The last remnants of the snow had dissipated beneath the sun’s harsh glare, retreating until the weather should begin to cool again come fall. Brown grass, cropped down to its roots by the blunt teeth of grazers - both equine and elk - was beginning to emerge bravely from the saturated soil, this time arriving as tender green shoots that were far more palatable. Skoll - the spotted stallion who had shown up in the Bay - had disappeared as abruptly, leaving a baffled herd in his wake.

And, perhaps most importantly, the Yakut’s very world had shifted. Before the arrival of spring, there had only been her duty as skjaldmær to sustain the fluffy chestnut and grant her purpose. Now, the child she’d borne was as important as the herd she protected - perhaps even more important. After the first baffled moments of failed motherhood, something had clicked in Valka, and she became as fiercely protective of the pale colt as a mother bear of her cubs. For these first two days, only Gloriosarah could get close enough to touch the child, and at times even her proximity made the smaller mare nervous and agitated. Of course, it didn’t help her anxiety that Valka had been unable to make any patrols during the first days of the boy’s existence, and could not be certain of the herd’s - or his - safety without the valuable information this reconnaissance provided.

Today was different. The child seemed stronger, and so she trotted away from the herd, one dark eye rolling back to watch him fall in behind her like a ghostly shadow. Most of his body was as white as the absent snow, but what little color touched his down-soft coat - mostly on his head - was as gold as sunlight. At first his thin limbs seemed to struggle with the pace, not quite able to figure out the gait that his mother performed without thought or effort. But in time, the little ghost’s strides steadied - becoming more certain, more powerful as they left the Bay’s coast and turned inland. Valka felt a swell of pride for her progeny, certain that he would be every inch a warrior when he was grown. And in that moment, a name came to her, though she did not yet affirm it with speech. Solvarr. It seemed strange to honor the boy’s sire when the Cove’s king and the Bay’s queen had never quite gotten over their differences. But the pony-sized mare felt, somehow, that it was appropriate. Her child would have her determination, and Solomon’s strength - and his name reflected both.

The sun was beginning to descend from its apex by the time mother and son returned to the gathered herd, the little child nursing greedily and then flopping to the ground with a weary exhale. Valka watched over him for a moment before her gaze turned to the rest of the Bay’s residents, flicking over Sæunn’s short figure, watching Glory and her daughter, and then halting abruptly on Loire and the colt who danced around nearby, occasionally flicking his heels in the awkward, uncoordinated way that only young foals managed. The boy - Riddler, she believed he had been named - was all that Loire had left of her mate. And the injustice of it sparked something in Valka that had been repressed for too long; grim purpose and the heat of her anger pulsing through her chest with each beat of the stout mare’s heart. But this time, she was free to act - no longer forced to the path of caution for the sake of her unborn child.

She knew what needed to be done, even if it pained her to do it.



--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--ᛖᚠᚱᛁ--


It was sunset by the time Valka arrived on the periphery of the Lagoon, her heart thrumming in her chest. Not from fear - at least, not for her own sake - but excitement. She could scent not only the golden stallion who had stolen from her, but also the prize that he had taken. Goose. The Yakut’s body quivered as she moved quickly but carefully, avoiding the trails that smelled strongest of the accursed stallion as she wound her way through dense trees and foliage, not daring to call out for the Vanner stallion lest her incursion be discovered. Valka was all too aware that her presence here would be unwelcome, and that if caught she would be in danger. And while the red mare was not typically one to back down from battle, she did fear what might become of Solvarr if she was too injured to return to him. Glory had been entrusted to watch over and care for the child in her absence, but she could not be expected to do so indefinitely.

As luck would have it, the familiar sound of Goose’s deep voice called out in the distance, giving the skjaldmær a bearing to guide her. When she emerged into the clearing, the shaggy chestnut mare took little notice of the pale stallion with whom the painted giant was conversing, her eyes remaining locked on Goose. It took a moment - the span of a few breaths, a dozen heartbeats - to find her voice, and force her wooden limbs forward. But when both movement and speech were restored to her, they were strong and unwavering. “Goose.” She greeted the stallion, this single syllable clipped with urgency. “We must head for Bay, before captor find out. Run!”

Her stocky figure had moved close enough to swing one hip so that it collided with the stallion’s muscular thigh, hoping the gesture would propel him into motion. Undoubtedly the Vanner would be shocked to see her here, but they could not afford to linger for long. Already, the Lagoon’s boss might be tracking her scent here, and the consequences of discovery did not bear thinking about.