VaLkA

mare / six / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

More than my next breath of air.

The impact of those words was as powerful as any blow she’d ever suffered, causing her to sway and lean more heavily against the golden-eyed stallion. Breathless and brief numb, the skjaldmær felt her other ear twist back, burying itself beside its tattered twin in confusion. Since the events of last fall, Valka had sensed the depths of her Hersir’s dedication to her— but could never have guessed at its source. Gratitude she might have understood, in return for the home and protection she’d offered; it would be no different than the obligation she felt to him. Or the impulse to protect those who called the Bay home, an all-consuming drive that defined her own nature.

But the affection that softened Bacardi’s voice— even after what she’d known with Solomon, it felt as ill-fitting to her as wearing someone else’s skin. A lie, and one that she could not hope to breathe life into forever. Because the terms of her survival could not be irrevocably tied to the existence of another. If her Hersir left tomorrow, she might be broken for days, even seasons. But in time, the wound would seal, just as the ones that marked flesh and bone. In time, she would move on, continuing the neverending battle of life against death alone.

After all, joy, she had learned, was as fleeting as the warmth of Tinuvel’s summers.

And yet— who was she to turn away from the tenderness Bacardi offered? Though she might not be capable of loving in the same way, Valka could not deny that she was devoted to the stallion in her own way. That she, too, would make the greatest of sacrifices to see him safe. That she was more complete for having him here in the Bay and at her side, even if the reasons did not rely on sentiment alone. And she was fond of the tobiano male, in her own way. In his time here in the Bay, Bacardi had come to mean more to her than the security his presence offered. He was the shelter in her storms, the light to her darkness. The shore to her sea. Was that not enough?

“Drafl,” the shaggy red mare spoke harshly, twisting around so that her dark eyes found his. “Without the breath you draw, you could not be my Hersir. And I need you, Bacardi. I need— I need—” Her voice faded into a soundless whisper, uncertainty chilling the air between them. Even with the words she might have spoken, Valka wasn't certain that the stallion would understand. That he could understand. And so she surrendered herself to him instead, telling him in actions what she could not in speech. And it was enough.

He was enough.