Valka

mare / sixteen / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

A darker shadow detached itself from the forest’s gray twilight, hurtling into the vaguely-circular clearing like a creature possessed. There was no cry of challenge preceding its arrival, but Valka was no less certain that this must be Fell. The glade quickly became an arena as the black stallion’s body clashed with hers, his advantage in height and weight forcing the stockier mare to yield. She was pushed back nearly a full body’s length, hooves scrabbling for purchase in the cold-hardened soil. One of Fell’s own hooves missed a short copper leg by the barest of inches. His jaws descended, closing over the nape of her neck. He wasn’t big enough to pick her up, but it wasn’t unlike being grabbed and shaken in the jaws of some much-larger predator. A bear, perhaps.

Twisting away — and feeling a telltale trickling of warmth where her skin departed with his teeth — the skjaldmær grunted. She was somewhat unnerved by her opponent’s silence, but chose to adopt the tactic for her own, as well. Knowing that she would be expected to withdraw, the shaggy chestnut drove forward instead. Her teeth sought to grasp the tender skin of the taller creature’s elbow, one leg lifting for a quick kick at the same leg. By then the stallion twisted around, his teeth seizing a hank of her mane and pulling. A few hairs pulled loose immediately, but the rest held firmly to her neck, the sharp ache of their protest a background noise that the small woman ignored.

Leashed to the tight clamp of his jaws, Valka whirled and snapped a quick series of bites at his muzzle and face. Her small ears had flattened into the pale tangle of hairs just behind them, and her dark eyes were wild with anger and grief. That pain — the pain of Solomon’s loss — was what enabled her to ignore any physical blow. For the moment, she had become a berserkr, untouched by pain and unswayed by strength. Had he given her the opportunity, the Yakut would have fought with Fell until one or both of them was killed. As it was, the shadowed male pulled back from her. Not a retreat, but a slight distancing of their bodies. Just enough to make her pause and consider him, too.

Valka would not have remained still for long; the fury sung too loudly in her veins. But when those amber eyes narrowed slightly and the tip of his tongue poked out from between his lips, she was taken aback. Not infuriated as the stallion had likely intended, but confused and even annoyed. It was a childish gesture in the face of a serious and deadly game. Either this Fell was insane, or he could not comprehend the stakes that he faced. And regardless of which was the truth, it was unlikely that he’d played any part in the death of the Cove’s ruler.

Still, Valka was pissed. She wanted — no, needed to hurt someone. To push even a tiny fraction of the pain she felt onto someone else, and make it that much easier to bear. And while she wasn’t the sort who made a habit of preying on others without cause, this creature made it all too easy. Fell would undoubtedly charge at her again when he was done with his ridiculous theatrics, and the skjaldmær would respond in kind. Any guilt that she felt — any image of Solomon’s disappointed expression if he was watching her now — could be buried beneath the excuse of him having made the first move.

Teeth bared, Valka followed the beast with her dark gaze, well on her way to becoming exactly the sort of monster she’d once hated.