He had waited. Not patiently, but he had waited for her. He had declared his affection for the mare and then gave her the space that she so desperately seemed to need. Solomon did not hover. He did not demand more of her time than she was ever willing to give, not even when she gave him permission to wield his position of authority over her like a battle axe. Solomon respected her enough to wait for her, even though the very act of waiting proved painful.

He turns at the sound of her frantic pace, concern creasing his brow. She rushed at him as if he were an intruder, as though they hadn't spent long months learning to navigate the turbulent waters that separated them. As though they hadn't fought, tooth and nail, for the understanding that led Solomon to call her not only a friend and an ally, but one of the few women he held in highest regard across all of the isles.

She raced toward him like a wild animal, her ears pinned and teeth bared. Given her tendency to lash out at him with tooth and hoof, it was not wholly unexpected as punishment for his absence, and it gave him hope that something might still remain between them. His own ears pinned against the proud arch of his neck as she began to circle him, and he turned to face her, his weight shifting onto his back end to allow better maneuverability.

She dives in and he squeals in defiance, his own neck curling over hers so that his jaws can part, seeking to clamp down over the thickly padded arch of her crest. His world shrinks to the familiar space between their bodies, and he yields to her, bowing his body around her own, even as her teeth grasp the flesh of his shoulder and yank. A squeal escapes him, but it is short-lived and born far too low in his throat to be much more than a token protest. Already he is swerving his shoulders away from her, his maw aiming for the subtle dip where her neck met her shoulder. Before he can bite down - the simple act of touching her here combined with the heady punch of adrenaline sweeps him back in time to a year ago, when they'd met in the Cove. Back to when Solomon had thought that they'd finally, finally managed to come to an understanding of what they were to each other.

Of who they were.

Abruptly, she swings away from him again and his lips trail over the disarrayed strands of her pale mane. Solomon's ears pin in frustration at being thwarted the release of combat to settle their differences, and he steps closer, intending to grip her shoulders and shake the fight back into her but movement ahead of the Bay Queen makes him freeze in place. Beside him, he can feel the heave of her ribs as she fights for her breath, but Solomon is distracted by the perfection of their daughter. Her face is curious - seemingly not at all phased by the sight of her mother engaging in combat with someone - and the thought makes his lips curl into a bittersweet smile.

You said you wanted me to be yours, Valka snarls beside him and confusion knits his brow as he turned back to her, ears pinning beneath the dark tangle of his mane. "I do," He affirms fiercely, reacting to the doubt in her tone rather than the words themselves. He'd meant every word that he'd uttered to the little pony mare that day, and to hear her doubt it struck him in the chest.

It shouldn't have surprised him the way it did. After all, he had expected this sort of reaction not just from Valka, but for every mare he had ever claimed as his own, be it emotionally or physically. And yet, Valka was the only one brave enough to give voice to the guilt in his chest. Hearing it didn't make it easier, but he relished, for one moment, the opportunity to put things right. To explain why he'd gone. To make them understand that he hadn't done so willing, nor would he ever willingly leave again. The islands were his prison, but this prison was the happiest place he'd ever found on this planet.

And then-- then, her words cut out and his face tightens, the guilt forcing his throat closed. "And then I left." He finishes woodenly, the words like sawdust in his mouth. For a time, the silence stretches interminably between them and he swallows reflexively, trying to lessen the lump in his throat that blocks the apology that he knows is necessary. He wants to look toward their daughter, to meet her, and to begin making up for all the firsts that he had missed, but he can't tear his gaze away from Valka. Not while his shortcomings loom like mountains between them. First he decides, his heart cleaving, he will settle things with Valka, and then… then he will meet the baby that looks on with curiosity.

Was it real? She asks and his face contorts again, this time in disbelief. Was it real? His mouth opens in disbelief for a moment and then downturns sharply in frustration. He spins to face her, head to head and drops his gaze to her eye level, refusing to let her look away from him. "I meant every word of it, Valka."

Solomon stalks forward with each word until he is all but forehead to forehead with her, his gaze locked on her own. "I wanted you to be mine then," he growled, half wishing she would lash out at him. Her aborted attack earlier had left his blood running hot, and when combined with the sudden and direct reminder of the last time they'd spoken, he couldn't help but remember what had happened that day. The fierce argument and the fighting and the making up. The way she'd commanded him as if she were Queen and here merely a subject.

It had been hot then, and it certainly hadn't lost any of its allure now.

"And I damn sure want you to be mine now." His voice drops to a low growl, the longing, and passion and anger all mixing together into a potent vibrato. "I will claim you in as many ways and as many times as you let me Valka."

In the moment, flush on hormones and the love he held for this small, obstinate mare, he doesn't consider that she might not want him to. That he was too much for her to stomach. Too possessive, too needy, too domineering. That she no longer wanted him to hold her in such a fashion. It doesn't even occur to him that she may have made this choice before this moment. That even now, with the grief and the longing in her voice, that she may have chosen another to sire her children and to stand beside her and to lead at her shoulder.

That she may have finally marked someone more worthy than him.

Solomon