VaLkA

mare / five / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

For every defeat that she’d suffered during the tumultuous journey of her life, the skjaldmær had always gained something.

Her recent battle for leadership of Tinuvel was no different, though even Valka was surprised by what she emerged from the experience with. The Yakut would have expected to feel resentful of Solomon, whose god-given size and strength titled the odds of such spars in his favor. And yet even as she had hobbled away - favoring the forelimb that had been injured in a brief and unfortunate twist of Fate - the stocky chestnut had been filled with a strange sort of contentment. Though they were as different in their beliefs as they were in appearance, she hoped that the champagne stallion would prevail in his continued journey to unite Tinuvel. Despites the doubts that she stubbornly clung to, Valka could no longer doubt that the Cove’s ruler would make a worthy King.

He’d already proven himself more deserving than the monarch she’d once pledged her very life to protect.

The latter was a truth that she’d struggled to accept in the days following Solomon’s victory, though not from doubt of the stallion’s worth. Instead, it was guilt that Valka had strained against - guilt and the bonds of loyalty she still harbored for her previous King, even years after his death. It had taken the arrival of an old adversary for the pony-sized mare to truly put the spirit of her previous life to rest, and to begin the final steps of moving on. She still did not trust the Icelandic - no more than she could trust anyone who had once proven themselves her foe - but Valka had come to understand much from her interactions with Solomon. Such as the difficult truth that turning to force was as often an act of desperation as it was a true desire to rob another of their right to freedom. The former - at least - could be forgiven, if not condoned.

She had also come to recognize her fortune in the new life that she’d built here on in the Bay - and had come to believe that others deserved that same chance at redemption, regardless of their crimes.

Still, Valka was more wary now than she had been since her arrival on the islands - haunted by the ghosts of her past, and the possibility that they might yet claim her. And so she received Solomon’s call with a measure of relief that was equal to the concern that it awakened within her. Even if the moments of calm that found her trotting through the softening snows were merely the prelude to another conflict, it was a comfort to face the known over the unknown. Slowing as the painted male’s body became visible just within the boundaries of the Bay, Valka nickered a welcome. The sound of it was stiff and stilted, but the effort behind the gesture was no less genuine.

Whether it pleased her or not, Solomon was her King now - and she owed him the same respect that she would have given to any who had earned such a title. “Solomon,” she greeted the much-taller stallion, lifting her chin so that her dark eyes could discern the flashes of emotion she’d learned to watch his face for. “What brings you to Bay?” It did not occur to her now - nor had it previously - that he might follow through with the vow that he'd made. It would have been unfair to hold him to a promise made in the heat of battle. And as both had spoken truly that day, there was much they had yet to learn about one another.

Perhaps - once Solomon revealed his purpose in calling upon Valka - he would welcome the chance to learn about her past, and to share some of his own.