As Bacardi climbed over the bluff and his lupine-colored eyes landed upon Valka, the stallion come to a sudden halt. Uncertainty flashed in their depths as he stood there, nostrils flaring to drink in the scent of the birth that weighed heavily in the air. Bacardi knew that mothers liked to deliver alone (generally) but he hadn’t been expecting this. In some ways, he had thought there was at least a little bit of time left. But when the skjaldmaer yielded, showing the tiny figure upon the ground, Bacardi walked closer as if drawn by some invisible force pushing him from behind. The moment his eyes had left Valka to rest on the child, he could look no where else.


“Valka….” he murmured as he finally drew close to the pair, his ebony rimmed nose dropping to draw his ashen lips across the child’s back with the briefest of touches. Not wanting to throw her off balance as she tried to find her feet, but also as if she was the most fragile thing he had ever touched. “She is beautiful.” The new father said, his eyes now seeking out the mare. He was sure that she was exhausted and sore, if not hurting from the experience. But the painted stallion still saw her the same as he always did; the strong sea, even if the salty waters were at low tide.


Letting his eyes return to the girl, Bacardi placed gentle licks along her hip and back, helping to clean and dry her. He was tentative, not wanting her to catch a chill, and softly guided her towards Valka for the first nursing once she had found her balance to remain standing. As the girl latched on, Bacardi brought his attention fully to Valka. His eyes bore into her own, searching for what he might find within, before he reached out to her. Drawing his lips along the crest of her neck before dipping his nose into her flaxen mane. His warm breath buffeted against her fuzzy neck while he also drank in her familiar scent. “She is yours….” he whispered, closing his eyes briefly before moving closer to the mother on the opposite side of the foal.


Though Bacardi was sure that Valka didn’t need it, he still shielded her away from the wind and stood pressed against her side. The stallion felt no need to break this intimate moment between them as their shared child showed her own strength in her first minutes of life. “What is her name?” Bacardi asked softly, reaching his lips to draw lightly along Valka’s cheek down to her own muzzle.

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

"...speech"