VaLkA

mare / five / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

For all the stocky mare’s outward confidence, there was a knot of insecurities buried at her core. It did not help that Valka was not an easy creature to grow close to. Many of those with whom she shared the Bay knew her only as its skjaldmær - more a figurehead than an individual who might feel and yearn. And even amongst those whom she now considered to be her closest kin, only one or two might have seen beyond the shell of her indifference and into the fear of rejection that it concealed.

More than anything, it was this undeclared weakness that had held Valka back from approaching Mazarine for so long. It had been one thing to wonder whether wrenching the other woman away from her home had been not liberation, but unwelcome interference. To hear the words spoken would have broken the Yakut more effectively than any physical blow she’d ever been dealt. Condemnation from those she had fought was expected, even welcomed - a familiar aspect of the life she’d lived before arriving on the islands. But the pony-sized mare had only recently begun to understand that belief alone could not render a cause just. For the sake of her tribe, she had killed without question - and it was only now, years later, that their ghosts had risen from the past to haunt her.

So much of what she’d learned of the purpose - and value - of life contradicted the lies she’d been fed in her youth.

A couple years earlier, a more prickly Valka might have bristled at the continued skepticism that her companion expressed. But now, she recognized it as an extension of the same disbelieving wonder that she’d felt when her own freedom had been won. To this day, the Yakutian mare could still recall the indescribable yet profound mixture of emotions that she’d felt when she’d stood upon the Bay’s shore after shedding Rougaru’s shackles. And knowing that Mazarine welcomed the freedom of choice that she’d been given served not only to relieve Valka from the burden of her doubts, but also to restore her determination to grant others the same.

Perhaps - someday - she could even hope to balance the burden of her sins with the peace of knowing that she had cast some light into the shadows of this troubled world.

“Do not thank me,” the pangare mare murmured, too aware of the way her voice had softened to reveal some of the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. “Instead, live. You do not know what you want now, because you have spent too long trying to be what others want. Like me, you can learn to listen to own heart again - and if it leads you away from Bay, I will still be grateful for the time we share.” Shifting uncomfortably in the silence that followed this confession, Valka cast about for a more mundane subject to ease the twisting ache of her too-vulnerable heart.

“Have you climbed bluff yet? The wind is strong up there, but the view of Bay… it is worth the cold.” As she spoke, the smaller mare indicated the landmark she spoke of with a tip of her head. The same gesture expressed willingness to accompany Mazarine there, if that was what her companion wished - though it would be a first for the skjaldmær to share her vigil with another. But given time and care, life could blossom in even the hardest and most inhospitable soil.

The tundric landscape of their home was a standing testament of that truth.