Like the long steady rivers that forged paths through lands, Bacardi is patient as he awaits an answer. Though doubt was not what he thought would come from his leader. Nor the fear she coupled it with. In the days he had first arrived, it seemed the only thing he could ever feel. But with the security he had found here, those emotions barely managed to wrap their sharp talons around his heart. Yet, still, sometimes he felt their cruel touch and although he didn’t pity Valka, he wished she would not feel that way now.


“Anyone can change, Skjaldmaer. Or the tides would not push and pull with the moon and sun. But the sea is still the sea.” Bacardi replied. Though Valka had looked away from him and towards the distance, his remained steady upon her alone. Only seeing her despite the many distractions around them. “Make a purpose of your needs, as I’m sure others would benefit that cannot stand strong enough for themselves.” Like he had learned from the Peak mares, though he had not heard tale of their noble deeds in such a long time. He wondered if they had lost their way? Or if they were there anymore at all.


Finally, Bacardi pried his gaze from Valka, turning it to Kesja as the painted girl suckled greedily. He couldn’t help the feeling within his chest as his heart gave a heavy lurch. How easily the spirited girl could have been his own. Somehow, there was no bitterness to that thought, only a longing. It didn’t stop him from reaching out and giving a playful tug of the filly’s tail once he had caught it between his lips. A light dancing in his eyes of the mischief that lurked deep within the otherwise quiet stallion. The days when he had raced headlong across the territory in his youth seeming a distant memory, but not a forgotten one.

five years. mutt. bay tobiano. fourteen three hands. of the bay.

"...speech"