VaLkA

mare / six / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

Momentum was the only thing that had kept Valka moving; without it, the last remnants of her strength were quick to flee. In stillness, she could feel the cold tightening its relentless grasp on both her body and mind, but she was powerless to defy it. A heaviness was beginning to settle over her, as if each flake that had settled onto her back weighed as much as a stone. Watching the hypnotizing swirl of snow, the Yakut wanted nothing more than to sleep. Slowly— inexorably— her eyelids began to droop, and the rhythm of her breathing deepened. Drifting, the red woman first thought that she had dreamed the sound. But the small points of her ears twisted to catch its last distant syllable, and her dark eyes flitted open again.

Was that an echo of her own voice threading its way through the storm’s wordless wails, or someone else’s answering call? Abandoned as the skjaldmær had been by her other senses, it was impossible to know for certain. And yet it was also impossible to stifle the hope that bloomed— powerful and warm— in her chest. Probing her surroundings with renewed vigor, Valka glimpsed a shadow amidst the endless white. But it was the voice that provided the first irrefutable evidence of her savior; the harshly-spoken words that yanked her back from the figurative precipice on which she stood.

In the headiness of her relief, it took the Yakutian female a few heartbeats to recognize that her companion did not belong to the Bay’s herd. Baring her teeth, Valka might have gladly chased the intruder off and froze to death for the sake of her stubborn pride. But as the blue mare drew up close beside her, the heat of her body was tangible in the air between them; irresistible. Leaning into the bald-faced woman even as she bristled at the brush of her unfamiliar dark skin, the skjaldmær felt warmth— blessed warmth— begin to trickle back into her. After a moment, she had thawed enough to find her voice again.

“Do not presume to teach me wisdom while casting your own to the winds, outsider.” She would have snarled— were her voice capable of anything harsher than a raspy murmur. Despite the venom in her response, Valka curled more deeply into the shadowy figure as she regained control of her rigid body. Or at least, she huddled as closely as the other mare’s swollen belly permitted, particularly when it met with the obstacle of her own. “Or do you mean to tell me that this was your idea of perfect weather for a stroll across Tinuvel? And into the home of a potential enemy, no less. You are either bold or foolish. Perhaps even both,” the pony-sized creature mused, the rasp of her voice softening into grudging admiration.

A moment passed, filled with nothing save the howl of the wind. When its notes faded into the distance, the skjaldmær spoke again. “I am Valka, protector of the Bay. And you, woman of shadows?”