VaLkA

mare / six / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

The grey stallion retreated and a hushed silence fell over the Bay, filled only by the rhythmic sighs of the sea. After the grunts, screams, and thuds of equine combat, this gentle sound felt strange in the small chestnut’s ears— particularly punctuated as it was by the racing rhythm of her heart. Adrenaline from the battle still clung to the skjaldmær’s sweat-dampened skin and she could not help to tremble, so overcome with relief that it made her bones feel like jelly. It was difficult for Valka to express just why the thought of Ironclad claiming her in that way was repellent, but in the end that desperation had lent her the last dregs of strength that she needed to drive the Inlet’s ruler away.

A shifting and clattering of stones pulled the Yakutian mare from her thoughts. Turning to watch her Hersir approach, the pony-sized mare felt guilt war with the brief peace she'd known at her victory. The painted bay had fought well, driving off a bachelor and then immediately turning against Ironclad— but it was clear that these battles had cost him. There was a sag to his posture that favored one foreleg, and that was hard enough for the Bay’s protector to witness. But his evident shame tore at her even more— the soft reluctance of his apology, the way his strange gold eyes avoided hers. And though she knew that she would need to face Solomon soon, Valka could not bear to turn away while her loyal second suffered.

“No, Bacardi,” the red skjaldmær began, her voice sounding far too severe in comparison to his. To temper its harshness, she twisted around to touch her pale muzzle briefly to the warm hollow of his chest. “You fought well, even when I failed to stand at your side as I should. I could not ask for a worthier Hersir.” The fluffy chestnut fell silent for a moment, allowing the waves and the wind to murmur— and for the stallion to speak uninterrupted if he desired. She didn’t doubt that he would wonder at this all. At why Solomon had come to the Bay, at why she had not fought until the last. And so— even if he did not ask— she offered what answers she could willingly.

Of course, some parts she couldn’t understand. Like why her King and ally had traveled all that way without intention of claiming her as she’d expected him to.

“Is always the same when fall comes,” Valka began. “Like first year in Bay. They come, they fight. I let them, because it is stallion’s way. But they are not proven until they defeat me too, Bacardi. If I am to defy the gods’ will for children, they must be strong.” She snorted, her dark eyes briefly scanning the sea to ensure Ironclad’s absence. “Not easy to defeat Valka. Only a few...Solomon, Medusa. Cullen. You.” Pride was evident in her eyes when they found the stallion’s, hoping that he would be reassured by this knowledge. There was no shame in defeat, after all.

The only shame was in allowing oneself to be defeated— not in body, but in spirit.