To many they would have wanted more. Needed more. But Bacardi was contented by how Valka leaned into him instead of pulling herself away. To feel the brush of her warm side against his own, to know that she was real. That all of this was real. Even though this was not his first child, nor would it be his last; it somehow felt…. different. Although the other mares of the Bay did not need him, Valka especially did not. The warrior woman had chosen him because she simply could. Just as she had chosen him to help raise Kesja, until the young girl had went away to be with her real sire. Just the thought of it sent a sharp pain through his chest. Bacardi refused to let the thought linger, as this was too happy of a moment for him.


Bacardi’s ears twist towards the sound of Valka’s voice as she answered him with a name. Falda. Though he didn’t know what it meant, he was sure that she had chosen it for a reason. He was not left to wonder for long, however, as the chestnut followed with an explanation that left him speechless. Everything about the girl’s name was in recognition of his family, of his heritage, of him. Had Kesja’s name meant the same for Solomon? The painted stallion dare not ask.


“You honor me with more than I deserve.” Bacardi replied, lowering his head closer to her own as his hushed words are dragged from his lips upon clouded breath. His velveteen muzzle brushed against the edges of her mouth, tracing up along the contours of her face and the edge of her cheekbone just beneath her eye until his muzzle disappeared among the thick locks around her ear. “I…” he started, but then paused, the words he was about to say catching in his throat. Pulling his muzzle away, the stallion cast his eyes out to the landscape before them. Although they had pledged loyalty to one another, relied on one another, and needed one another; there had been nothing else said. Bacardi knew what he felt, but the words were hard to say. Words he thought she would refuse.


“I couldn’t be more proud.” The stallion said instead, looking to the mare again and offering a warm smile. “Perhaps one day, I can take her to the place her ancestors hail from.”

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

"...speech"