VaLkA

mare / five / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

The colt's differences from his mother had been a source of confusion and frustration for the growing colt. Though her stories delighted him - particularly those that took place in the vast elsewhere that existed outside the Bay - they didn't paint a complete picture. They didn't help Sǫlvarr to understand why his legs were already longer than the Yakutian mare's, or where the pure white that comprised most of his coat came from. They didn't explain why his indifference to the systems of duty and honor that were Valka's passion, or the longing to explore the excitement of unfamiliar lands when she was so strongly devoted to the concept of home. In that way, meeting his sire was a revelation that caused the gravity of his would to shift. He could no longer be content to orbit the central star that his dam had been during the first stage of his growth, but the second edge to that sword was that he felt torn in half. He loved his mother, and wanted her to be happy and proud of him.

But he also wanted to be himself, and saw his reflection more clearly in the warm green eyes of the stallion than he had ever glimpsed in Valka's dark and fathomless gaze.

He would have happily explained what a himinborg was to the tobiano male - the stories about the gods had been amongst his very favorites. But when Solomon suggested he waited until they'd arrived in the Cove, he nodded and giggled, feeling a thrill at the thought of sharing something with the stallion alone. Something Valka wouldn't know - a secret that could tie them closer together. Sobering then in response to his father's more serious tone, he pursed his own lips on conscious mimicry of Solomon. After a moment, undecided, his gaze drifted naturally to the very creature who had determined his life's course so far.

Valka was finding it easier to conceal the constant ache that gnawed in her chest, particularly since the Cove king‘s most recent words implied that he did not intend to hold the boy for as long as she had kept Sǫlvarr in the Bay. It was not just, perhaps, that he be denied equal opportunity to know his son - and it was this that held the small red mare back from setting a firm timeline. “Three days, week - the choice is for Sǫlvarr, and he will know when ready to come back. And when he is ready, I trust you to return with him to Bay - unless you prefer not.” Her voice was kept light, casual - but the Yakut’s gaze revealed the weight of the words she spoke. She was extending an olive branch; announcing her intention to trust the painted stallion within the boundaries of her home. And while it was a far cry from uniting their herds, the skjalmdær had yielded ground so rarely that she knew Solomon would understand the hidden meaning. Would understand that she was also taking that first step forward… the step that might one day lead them to meet in the middle, and make peace.

Sǫlvarr, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to the charged atmosphere - and all too eager to be on his way. "So can we go then?" He asked none too patiently, butting his head into the champagne male’s shoulder as if he could hope to shove him along. Solomon was not as easily moved as his mother, however - and, glancing briefly back at Valka, the sun-crowned colt seemed to remember himself. In a couple bounding strides he was at her side, tucking the curve of his muzzle into the warm curtain of the small woman’s mane affectionately. It occurred to him that with Solomon, the most he could hope for would be to brush the ends of the stallion’s two-toned mane. But maybe someday he’d be that big, and then Valka wouldn’t be able to beat him as easily in a fight!

Parting from his dam with a mischievous smirk and a light tug on one of her short coppery ears, he darted out of the skjalmdær’s reach and returned to his place at Solmon’s side. "Okay, now I’m ready!" Sǫlvarr announced, doing an eager sort of dance as he contemplated the unknown path that lay ahead.