VaLkA

mare / six / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Though it was easier than she could’ve imagined to fall into the old pattern of their friendship as though their trials were only a bad dream, Valka could not ignore the old wounds that thrummed within both at the stallion’s mention of the Lagoon. And though Goose seemed as eager to dance away from the subject as the skjaldmær might be to escape an enemy she’d just struck a solid blow, she felt that now was not the time for such equivocations. As much as both might long for a return to normalcy, the tension between them would only stand as an obstacle to it. So while the buckskin fell into Valka’s combat-pattern of light-footed circumvention, the Bay’s protector discarded artifice and evasion and chose to face their conflict head-on.

“Goose…” The shaggy chestnut began, surprising even herself with the gentle note in her voice. “I want to say that I am not mad—but I was. I know why you chose to go, but all I could think then was that you were helping an enemy. And that even—” She might have shrugged here if she were capable, like the words that would follow didn’t matter. But they did. They were, perhaps, the most important words that she had ever spoken to the tobiano male. “—even if you came back, it could not be the same between us. I missed you, Goose, and I am glad that you’re home too. But…” Now Valka hesitated, raking the stallion’s figure with her sternly affectionate gaze. “We have to believe in each other, like I did when fighting beside my battle-sisters. If we doubt each other, then we fail each other. And we did, Goose.”

Silence reigned again for a long moment—but this time the Yakutian mare allowed it to remain, sensing that it was necessary for both she and her companion to regain their footing. She did not mention that prior to Goose’s willing departure, she had strongly considered raising him as her equal. She did not reveal the full extent of her suffering in his absence—particularly after her son, too, had left the Bay. She did not even mention what she thought of the stallion sending his son to that den of cruelty and contempt. Though continuing to confide in one another was important for the sake of overcoming their differences, there was a point at which reflection ceased to be, and reproach took its place. The former held the potential to teach and reconcile; the latter would only sow further discord and breed mistrust.

And it wasn’t as if time couldn’t still prove to her that Goose would make a worthy Huskarl. But that evidence needed to come naturally, and not be forced from her friend in a manner far too similar to how Cullen had manipulated him.

“Bay is too quiet now,” Valka mused aloud suddenly, the train of her thoughts shifting to the familiar song of battle. The thunder of hooves, the slap of flesh against flesh, the harsh grunts that often followed. No matter how well she might hone her diplomacy, it was the other edge of the sword that the skjaldmær had always known and relished. And so—turning to look at Goose with a conspiratorial smile—she embraced the familiar surge of adrenaline in her veins, her dark eyes glittering with excitement. “What do you say to spar for old times sake—and then maybe you can tell Valka where she might find a worthy purpose for battle on islands.”

Now that she felt whole again, the prospect of rising from the ashes to prove her worth—particularly with Goose beside her—was a welcome one.