VaLkA

mare / six / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Their relationship shifted so often - twisting and growing amidst the trials they’d faced together - that each time Valka and Solomon met felt like a new beginning.

Perhaps the reason for this could be traced back to a single, regrettable truth - that the stocky mare and the tall stallion were still strangers to one another. Though they’d shared boundaries since the skjaldmær’s arrival on Tinuvel nearly two years ago, the extent of her intimate knowledge of the Cove’s king related to his behavior in battle. Was it any wonder that they still faced each other with all the wary stiffness of two circling wolves when they knew one another better as foes than as friends? Without common ground to stand upon, stiff greetings and stilted conversations was the very best that either could hope for. And while Solomon had seemed unwilling to meet her halfway in the past, something about the way he spoke her name led Valka to believe that that much had changed. Led her to hope that true peace was not only attainable, but inevitable.

And for once, the words that followed only served to strengthen this hope.

The shaggy chestnut listened in solemn silence as her ally and King spoke, mentioning the vow that they’d exchanged and the allusions Valka had made to her past. She listened, and did not interject even when her pride was ruffled by Solomon’s comment about the presumed unwelcomeness of a Queen - and in the end, was glad that she had not spoken in the heat of anger. Though she still believed with resignation and resentment what she might have said - that the same could be said of the Cove’s leader - he had still come to her. He had come to her and shared an open assessment of his shortcomings, and even sought her aid. And if Solomon could swallow his pride for the sake of unity, then Valka could do no less.

Yet it was frightening somehow - this prospect of being given a chance to prove her worth. The Yakutian mare could not help but wonder what the consequences of her failure might be. Whether it might cement the stallion’s ideals after she’d worked so hard to uproot them and gain even this grudging respect. “I - I not know,” she confessed, sharing her self-doubt and vulnerability as honestly as Solomon had done. “As I said before battle, there is much we not know of each other, much we not understand. But I can tell - and then maybe you can decide if I am still worthy.” Slowly, the small chestnut shifted the angle of her body - swinging her hindquarters around until she stood at Solomon’s side in an unprecedented gesture of camaraderie. And then - her dark gaze distant as it looked out over the Bay - she began to speak.

She began in the place where any life in her tribe began - not at birth, but on the day that their purpose was chosen. “My people, we learn our purpose young. Even as filly, I always felt the call of battle - always wanted to protect. And I was called to polinitsa, called to protect the King. It was greatest honor, Solomon, but so many of my battle-sisters died to protect him - died for a single life. And when I look back now, I think that he was not worthy. Because he always called for sacrifice, but never gave himself. Always demanded our enemies yield, but would have broken before he bent - even for the sake of his people.” She chewed over these words in thoughtful silence for a moment - but mostly, marveled at how comfortable it felt to confide in the tobiano stallion. Only seasons ago, Valka had fought Solomon out of the desperate desire to prove to him that her people’s customs were the way of honor; the path of strength.

Now, she was openly admitting that they - and she - were as flawed as anyone else.

“My tribe was already dying before the gods claimed them,” she resumed, the small points of her ears disappearing into her creamy mane. “We were dying for his pride - for the pride of all Yakuts.” Snorting disdainfully, Valka tossed her pale forelock out of her eyes to glare balefully up at the stallion. In the tumult of her emotions, it didn’t occur to the red woman that Solomon might take this gesture personally - that he might believe her ire was directed at him, and not turned inward as it truly was. “I will not make same mistake twice, Solomon. I will not serve pride - and if you want me to advise, then I advise you this: a true King should not be different than any other. Because if needed, he would give up his crown to save kingdom. If needed, he would even give life to protect those who serve him, as I would do proudly for any in Bay.”

Gaze softening, Valka suddenly pressed her muzzle to the curve of the champagne stallion’s shoulder. The scent of his skin was the same that she'd tasted in the heat of battle - sweat and dirt and masculine musk - yet touching him in this way felt very different. It was both strangely comforting and terrifying at the same time. But instead of pulling away, the skjaldmær embraced both emotions, and leaned her head against the taller stallion with a sigh that might have been born of either contentment or sorrow. “For what is worth, Solomon, I do not believe you need my help. But if you still ask it - then it is yours.”