Dancing in the wagon

I danced into His wagon, twirling through the shadows and breathing in the scents that filled the spaces. My mind and body were in some glorious place, for I was safe within the Brave Warrior's wagon. I hardly remember getting there, with little blurs of faces that I passed, and all the emotions that swirled inside me. I said hello to the bright squares of the quilt that hugged the furs as I straightened it. I ran fingers tenderly along the links of chain that once bound me in place. I lit the oil lamp tonight, when the shadows crept through and reminded me that the glittering stars and iridescent moonlight were now lighting the way. I wanted Him there, now, to see that I had made it. I wondered, was He wondering if I made it?

I swept up a fur and spun around, hearing that song of bells at my ankle, and suddenly had an idea how He knew I was around. I damned the bells while I laughed, curling against the warm floor boards and making each one ring on it's own. I lay back on the furs, only to rise again and sweep in long sliding steps across the wagon. I had never danced before, at least not with any kind of grace or rhythm. But I did this night, dancing to a heartbeat's throb that warmed at each spot He had touched me.

He makes me feel soft, and like a woman. He makes me feel what I want, by showing me options. Options that race through my blood like fire, stretching through to each cell and singeing my skin. He offers me the whole world, without reservations. I have stars in my eyes, and when I place my palm against my belly, with my fingers splayed around my navel, you can feel it. The heat, the winged creatures testing their wings and just waiting to take flight.

Each ahn that passed was such sweet torture. I prepared His wagon for the evening as I had been, though I left the oil lamp burning. I wanted Him to see...welcome. To know..someone was waiting for Him. I had moved a trunk a bit, so that the light was diffused, casting amber shadows against the canvas walls. The beads trailed over the lumps of fur and cavorted toward the links of chain. Tonight, I was wrapped up in that chain, holding it's cool smooth relief against the fever He had ignited.

I thought I would never sleep. But I did. I fell asleep feeling my mouth unable to stop smiling. I must have drifted off somewhere between reliving the arousal of water, and the surety of where my dreams were heading. My Brave Warrior does not believe in His dreams any more, or so He says. He believes in something though, for He is surely able to draw mine, adding scents and sounds and colors. I wonder, if He has just never met anyone that did the same for Him. I think that would surely be a shame.

run...catch...run

He told me to run. Run catch, run with this feeling written all over my body. He could have told me to lay face down in the water and stay there, counting to 150 and I would have done so. He could have told me to lay down before the herd of bosk when they moved toward the southern lands, and I would have raced off with as much conviction and that same irrepressible smile. He told me to wear this, this newly discovered hunger, this want, a need I had only just begun to feel. I doubted that I could shed it if I tried. He unlocked something, and it wasn't going to go away. He told me to run, but warned me that others might try to catch me. All I could think was that was ...silly. I knew I was different. But who else would know? He told me to run fast, for if another caught me, I was theirs for the taking.

I ran, with all the energy and intention that seemed to grow wild inside me. I slowed only when I neared the rows of wagons, still lashed together, stopped and waiting. I waltzed between the canvas and wheels, the grin on my face betraying the secret I coveted in my heart. "Do you know what it is to feel this?" I kept thinking as I passed by the women bent over their cookpots and the men cleaning harnesses and saddles. I turned a corner, finding myself right in the middle of young Warriors, only one or two scars worn in pride on their cheeks. Spots of dampness still clung to my skin, my flesh a rosy color that betrayed what I thought was so secret. I was too happy to realize I was as naked as the day I was born. My hair was a tangle of dark webbing that felt His grip in it's core. My eyes wore the gleam of a million stars, and the heat of hunger inside. They wanted botas, fresh ones, from the supply wagon near the main fires.

I started to think, could they smell it on me? Was He written all over my skin? His words came back in a rush, fighting with one another to be of importance. To be this for every man and woman, and yet - to make it back to His wagon. Contrasts, so many contrasts were felt as I delivered the botas with an eager giving. He was warm, in the midst of the cold. He was strong, in the sinking depths of softness. He exposed me, and yet I needed to be..only...in one place. I could fly, I could crawl, I could dance the whole way there..but I had to get there.

Run...catch...run. Straight into His arms.

To be a woman

I am a woman. It is...wonderful...to be a woman. It is fantastic to be a woman. It is heart pounding, send me to ride the moon, incredible to be a woman - with my Master Brave Warrior.

There are so many parts of a woman, of me, that I didn't know could feel like this. I have heard the whispered explanations, felt the inklings of sensations, the compelling urge to touch and know more. But I had no idea it would be, could be - like this. I never realized I had so many unique places that could burst with the flavor of touch, burn with a whisper, blossom with a chilly tickle; and all at the same time! I did not know that a man's chest could betray his emotions in so many ways. That his heartbeat could tell me a story. I had no idea, in all my naive imaginings, that his thighs could feel like all the security I could ever want, or that his fingers in my hair could feel like a supreme gift of guidance, and at the same time flame that fire that swelled from sparks deep within my soul. I had never envisioned how decadent a bath could feel, how hesitation could be melted with a brush of lip, or that when two people collide it can change your life forever.

He was cleaning up, standing ankle deep in water, and I was spellbound. Brought back to earth with the simple vision of that which sent me soaring in the first place. I marvel at how easy it is to run in the clouds and dance on the ground when I am around Him. I stood there, just watching, the spray of water that glistened on His shoulder, trying to be silent. But He knew. How I do not know, but He knew and suddenly our eyes were locked. In that moment, every decision I had made became centered on this one point. I chose this, asked for it, wanted it. I wasn't going to stop mid jump. I had no reason to. He calls me Catch, and when He smiles my world lights up. A slave is what I wanted to be.

I stepped into the puddle of coolness, with all of Dee's lessons and our talks urging me to show Him I could do this. And then He asked what happened to my face. My world tumbled and I rushed through the chuckling creek without another word. I sought Him then, telling my tale, needing to tell Him. My cheek pressed to His chest, and the cold water had faded, as if it didn't even touch me. I sought His understanding, His wisdom, His direction. I got so much more.

If I thought I knew what flying was, I was living in the dreams of youth. My dreams, simple sketches on an ever widening canvas, with the edges colored in, are now shaded with hues I never knew existed. This fire, this flame, that licks at my insides is insatiable, as if it was caged for a lifetime and finally set free. And I was promised this is only the start. He has turned me upside down and still I float above the ground. He knows me, even better than I do myself. Could He possibly know how I dreamt to learn that final passage into womanhood with Him?

He held me there, kneeling in that glorious water, watching me, feeling what the temptress of liquid found that I didn't know existed. The things He knew, could be. I have never been seen naked before. His whisper, murmured against my ear, encouraging, taunting me, fostering an ache inside that I couldn't escape. My skin still tingles, my pulse quickens even as I trace back through every delicious breath I took. I will never forget it. He made sure of that.

A bath

I awoke to a lazy day. We are still not moving, and it is a time of restless pause. I didn't mind. I was happy to lay and count the gray clouds, search out a speck of red paint on a wagon, or listen as hard as possible to hear a drum beat three rows over and 15 wagons back. They say it is going to rain, but so far the sky has seen fit to only sprinkle us with gauzy drizzle now and again. I didn't mind. I worked on the leather pieces, trying to make them into botas, though I kept finding myself scratching little loops and hearts in the hide with the tip of the needle, and my fingers were raw from all the times I missed. But I didn't mind. All my floating sensations had settled into a happy little hum of moving through the day with a sparkle in my eyes and a smile from deep inside.

By midway through the afternoon, all the nuggets of fuel were gathered, meats were roasting, water barrels were filled and even a few eggs were gathered. Dee suggested we go to the stream for a little bit of cleaning up. For all the differences I thought might slap me in the face with my decision to be what I was, to be a slave to Fonce of the Tuchuk, most had been very subtle. At least so far I had found them to be so. Yes, I roamed around with women barely dressed, including myself. At any point in time, one of them could be called away, or ordered, or simply snagged for any type of task...or other things. But my bubble of protection was once more keeping me away from such things. A bath would prove to show me the difference of what I was, and what I wasn't.

A few days before, it was all over camp that the Ubara had called for baths for all the women. Free women. Women who could luxuriate in hot water and scented bubbles. It was so appealing, just thinking of it. Rubbing away the grit and grime, feeling squeaky clean and not shivering in the not that warm air. Smelling delicately scented, like a woman should. My hair free of debris, soft and shiny, falling against my shoulders and emitting a light perfume with every turn of my head. Looking pretty....just in case.

Instead, I was still grubby, wearing smudges of mud here and there, my perfume one of trail dust, damp grass and mud. When Dee offered the chillier version, I was so very happy to indulge. Chilly water didn't faze me, not today. I was warm, all I had to do was think of my Brave Warrior and I felt that heat rising inside. Dee said I had stars in my eyes. I think it was the sparks from inside, myself. We were to meet at the crooked bend just to the left of a clump of grass. I never found Dee.

I found...my Master.

Ahhhhh

Since the moment I spotted you
Like walking 'round with little wings on my shoes
My stomach's filled with the butterflies
And it's alright
Bouncing round from cloud to cloud
I got the feelin' like I'm never gonna come down
If I said I didn't like it then you know I'd lied

Every time I try to talk to you
I get tongue-tied
Turns out, everything I say to you
Comes out wrong and never comes out right

So I'll say why don't you and I get together an' take on the world, be together forever
Heads we will and tails we'll try again
So I say why don't you and I hold each other, fly to the moon
and straight on to heaven
Cause without you they're never gonna let me in

When's this fever gonna break ?
I think I've handled more than any man can take
I'm like a love-sick puppy chasing you around
And it's alright
Bouncin' round from cloud to cloud
I got the feeling like I'm never gonna come down
If I said I didn't like it then you know I'd lied

Every time I try to talk to you
Get tongue-tied
Turns out, everything I say to you
Comes out wrong and never comes out right

So I'll say why don't you and I get together an' take on the world
and be together forever
Heads we will and tails we'll try again
So I say why don't you and I get together, fly to the moon
and straight on to heaven
Cause without you they're never gonna let me in

Slowly I begin to realize this is never gonna end
But about the same time you walk by
And I say oh here we go again, oh
(Santana with Chad Kroeger)

Catch

The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the empty skies, my love,
To the dark and the empty skies.
(Roberta Flack)



"He called me Catch. Did you hear? He said...Catch!" I was giggling and I knew it, so wrapped up in happy moments that I felt like I might fly up to the sky and burst into a rainbow of confetti. Dee was laughing as she helped me pick out an extra pot for cooking from the camp supply wagon. I had already listened to all the teasing of the other slaves, and I didn't care. You could have picked me up with a feather, I was floating that high. It is the little things, silly things, that we take such delight in when we first are learning the paths of people and relationships. If only we could always make the small golden moments touch us so...I think the world would be a happier place.

I had found my Brave Warrior. It had been many days, many small gifts left, many nights, some with disturbed beads and other times without, and many cold meals carried back to the wagons. We had endured a water shortage, found plentiful water, warm days, temperate nights, lush grass and a stubborn old bosk that looked as big as my room back at that ranch. I thought we could go around it, though I wasn't sure if the old beast would survive us. I found out about the beliefs and superstitions of the people I now lived with. I was used to superstitions, for Yama and the others had their share of them. From tossing salt over my shoulder to hopping around on one foot in a circle, I knew of many. So we waited, in lines of wagons lashed together, much like the hopes of the people within them.

Dee and a few other girls were making a trip to the main fires to gather a few extra supplies. Since we were staying put at least for a day, there was the promise of cooking up a few nice dishes, cleaning out the wagons, and in general just enjoying being stationary. Some were restless, anxious to be moving again. Some had started up the dancing and singing, with drums and voices floating up to the ever changing sky. I had never been to the main fires and when we arrived, not all that far from where the wagons had stopped, I marveled at what looked like the start of a large gathering. While I was still lost in the wonder of all the faces gathered around, Dee stopped me and motioned across the clear area toward the fire that licked upward, twisting in the tousle of breeze. And there He was. We hurried across, though I passed up Dee with ease. And while I vaguely recalled all the previous lessons of kneeling and greeting and the like, everything was swept away on the tides of swelling emotions I felt, much to the consternation of Dee.

That was the start of the happy moments. He is brilliant in the midst of all the plains. Not sparkly, but raw and exciting and dangerous and bright. Much like the fire He was intently watching. I remember thanking Him, several times, and the sting of His hand against my butt. I remember the smile, His smile, and thinking it was the most beautiful thing I have ever in my life seen. I could see Him trying to figure me out, and I suppose in all my excitement I am just a bundle of shooting stars, and He was trying to grab one of them. I know I tripped, for I have a bruise on one cheek. Different from the one beneath my eye. I stumbled somewhere as well, scraping up my shin. But He smiled. And He called me Catch. And there was this flicker of something in His eyes that reached across a lifetime and met mine. And I was oblivious to anything else. Except how the fire danced for Him, expanded and contracted and rose and fell. Almost as if He directed it.

I am a cheeky untrained kajira. And it sounded as pleasant as that name...Catch. I am infatuated, I have been told. I am like that fire, swelling and expanding, caring little for the mists that might rain down around it, dancing with His feeding chips. I need to learn, to learn how to be pretty and beautiful and make Him smile with that special flicker in His eyes all the time. I sat on His platform, wrapped in a warm pelt, just cavorting with the stars up in the inky black sky. And I heard my name.

Bruised Aftermath

I have never been struck like that, not intentionally. I do not know which hurt the most, the physical throbbing of my cheek, or the embarrassment and strike to my pride. I finished the washing and sequestered myself within the slave wagon, nursing both wounds. I was grateful for the solitary confines, and for once prayed that the other slave of the Brave Warrior would not make an appearance. I wanted to understand the why, though I knew fully well that slaves were often held beneath the lowest of the low. One thing I did understand was that the drumming, the music of the wagons and the Tuchuk, was much more than expressions of joy and sadness. I needed to learn this language, and as quickly as possible.

I hid within the darkness of the wagon for a long time. I didn't even light the chips for the small brazier, just letting the shadows claim me and make me as invisible as possible. I paced, learning every creak of board from front to back and side to side and eventually calmness pushed against all the turmoil I was feeling. I missed the Brave Warrior. I missed His understanding, His wisdom, His answers. I missed His eyes and the battered hands that inspired the want to hold them. It was an ache that grew and blossomed and spread, pushing away all the other feelings and emotions, until I finally realized it was only I that was keeping me locked away in the lack of light.

The night air was still streaked with warmth and the moonlight painted everything silver with light as I emerged from my cocoon. Sounds rode the breeze, gathering here and there, sometimes lost around the end of a wagon, only to reappear at the next opening. I wandered without any real direction, save keeping my bearings of where the wagons of Fonce had settled for the night. I came into a small clearing, rimmed by silent wagons and only the damp musty smell of mud and grass. No fire charmed the canvas, nor stained the moonlight with it's glow. But sound was an instant indicator that it was not empty. Sound and sight collided for a few moments waiting for comprehension to catch up, and when it did, I stepped back a few paces to assure I was not exposed by the moonlight. Two men were fighting, with the unmistakable sound of fists colliding with flesh.

The fight was one sided, with one thoroughly having advantage over the other. I started to turn away, and as I did all the light in the world seemed to beam from the skies and expose the two with utter detail. My Brave Warrior, and what struck me instantly as a younger version of himself, were the combatants. Wisdom and skill was the clear winner in this debate. I turned and, for the second time that day, found myself tucked inside the darkness of the slave wagon, though this time I kept watch through the slit of wagon flaps for the approach of my....Master.

There is much I do not yet understand; not of life in general, the ways of men, or the driving forces of the Tuchuk. Forced into reasoning it out, I was quickly flooded with the memory of Brave Warrior Fonce, standing replete with a blade and His courage against many more Vaci. The weak do not, can not, survive here. As much as giving and caring hold these people together, so does the will to survive anything - and best it. Youth must pay attention, and I can guarantee you that the younger warrior in that fight will be a better warrior for what he just survived. And I will be a better...slave...for I will learn.

Fisted Conversations

"Did I tell you how those Paravaci wear so much jewelry?" I was currently holding the string of bells around my ankle, toying with one of the whorls of metal that created such a delicate tone. Dee sat opposite me, relaxing with a bota of water, within the wide open space of the slave wagon. It was lesson time, that time of day when we worked specifically on some idea or movement or position that Dee thought I should know as the slave of Fonce of the Tuchuk. She told me she had heard of their penchant for all things gaudy and expensive looking, though she had never seen it first hand. Then she told me sometimes I would be asked to move in such a way that my bells would make -no sound at all.- I thought surely she must be kidding, but she assured me she was not. I studied those little songmakers dubiously, wondering if I could ever master the finesse it would require to do such a thing.

It was not the first thing that had stumped me. Many other things seemed beyond my reach and capabilities and more than once I found myself clenching my hands into fists of determined frustration. I was capable enough in the matters of kneeling, standing, walking. Capable, but that grace and confidence, that sensual demeanor, were not yet mine. I wondered if it was my upbringing, or something in my composition, that prevented me from being able to move my body like a smoky tendril captured on a tropical breeze.

Dee asked me if I was a virgin. "Of course I am," came out quickly. Dee looked at me with a quirked brow, and I felt the heat creep upward from some place around the neckline of tunic I wore. This is definitely one of those differences between a woman meant for companionship and a slave. Dee suggested that as I learned more of such things, I might learn to move differently as well. There is both a woman and a girl within me. I felt all the girl at that moment, eager at fifteen to touch and learn everything, and yet so unaware. Then I thought of how I might learn of such things, and everything....changed.

Dee had gone to find her Master, leaving me to my own thoughtful rhythms. Ringing out through the conglomeration of wagons, the drums beat a tune of urgent notes, seeming to match the rapid pounding of my heartbeat. I had found a few tunics piled up in the corner of the Brave Warrior's wagon when I prepared His furs, and the dust that burst free from just a touch convinced me that they were in need of washing. I knew we were not near a stream, but the water barrel was quite full and would give me enough buckets full to do the job. I was rinsing out the last one, having draped all the others over the railing, when a voice boomed from over my right shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

I jumped, having been lost in the sensations that accompanied doing such a task, captured in the lingering memory of essence of the Warrior, and clearly not expecting anyone nearby. I told the burly man that now was standing right next to me that I was just washing tunics. I shifted uneasily under his scowling look, setting those melodious chimes to brrring softly. The scowl deepened, and the back of his hand met my cheek in a dull sickening thud. I fell back, as much in surprise as from the force of the impact, hearing him among all the throbbing in my ears, "there is a water shortage, do you not hear the drums?"

Little Things

I have been comparing my travels today, telling Dee of the story of how I came to be here. Several other women had joined us, pushing our way through the thick half bent grass, searching out nuggets of fuel and any other treats we might find. My travels north sounded so dangerous even to my own ears, but I laughed softly, telling the others they were more lonely and austere than anything. It had been cold, sometimes so cold I feared I would not survive, but now the air was invitingly warm and made the walking more comfortable. The company helped, I added with ready assurance. There had been much to see and do with the Carnival Caravan, and the feelings of family and closeness drifted in fleeting glimpses for that short time I was there. Still, I just wasn't comfortable enough to consider staying. Maybe another day and another time, I would seek the anonymity and acceptance of the caravan, but that was not what I looked for then.

Walking north had been cold with spots of heat. Walking south was warmth with dappled shade. Walking north I was chasing dreams within specific pictures. By the time I began my trek south, I was chasing dreams that boundless and could be more than I ever imagined. At the start of my journey, I tasted loneliness and despair, searching every part of my world for a face to welcome me. Now, I searched every part of my world, finding a vast variety of faces that would offer every emotion available, and one face in particular that made my toes wiggle.

I spotted my Brave Warrior today. Off in the distance, at times a mere darker shade in the haze of golden brown dust, His unmistakable presence struck me like hot lightening. I stopped walking just to watch Him. Coaxing and encouraging the movement of beasts with such skill He looked like both He and His kaiila danced the most engaging waltz. I was enthralled, and the girls I was walking with began teasing and cajoling, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. There are special moments, and this was one of them, when we are gifted to observe without muddying up the picture. I stood there, letting the dust coat my face, stinging my eyes until tears rolled down my cheeks, watching Him move so adeptly. I thought surely this is His element. Even from here, I could tell the pleasure and pride that held Him so upright. Enough so that even the slight hitch in His injured shoulder was given not a moment's pause before He stretched into the next movement. Rigorous work that required the strength of a man. I was proud to walk a thousand pasangs and more for Him. Because of Him.

I turned back finally, the smile permanently etched on my face, and stepped square into Dee. I am lucky to have found a woman who understands. Our heads clunked a bit, and we both laughed, Dee muttering something about stars in my eyes. She took hold of my wrist and bid me to come. The excitement in her voice promised that I wouldn't regret it. Dee and the others had found a patch of mint.

I have learned a great respect for treasuring the little things in life. While a supply wagon may burst at the seams with bric a brac and nick nacks, the people of the plains hold simple things in the highest regard. They waste nothing, and use everything to it's fullest potential. Mint is a blessing. Dee said a blessing from the sky. It was a bit trampled, and wet, but the patch was wide and long and wove through the grass here and there. We all scampered and prowled through the marshy grass in search of those tender aromatic leaves. Someone appeared with baskets and buckets and we all took as much as we possibly could fit in receptacles, cloths and hands.

That night, when the wagons would circle and park for rest, my Brave Warrior's wagon would hold the clean fresh scent of washed and scattered mint leaves. There was a thought to make it smell more feminine, but Warrior Fonce wasn't...feminine. The mint would be the bold note, underlying it would be the faint hint of nutty vanilla from a sliver of soap I had found. Tucked inside the eyelet pouch at the end of the beaded path over furs would be a little pouch of mint leaves, and a few toasted nuts. If necessity is the mother of invention, then life on the plains was the mother of inventive giving.

A Woman in Love

I met Dee's Master today. He is stockier than Brave Warrior Fonce, wider across the chest, thicker around the waist, and He has bright blue eyes that dance from the nut brown of skin and sandy brown of hair. He was atop a russet colored kaiila, wearing brown leather and a brown jacket, and covered in tan dust. I thought of a mud puddle, reflecting the arc and shimmering hues of a rainbow, capped off with the brilliant rain washed blue of sky.

We had gone in search of Brave Warrior Fonce, a bota of water slung over my shoulder and a light meal tucked in a leather wrapped package. I had found signs of life in His wagon from the previous night and my desire to see He was cared for, and simply to see Him, had continued to grow. Dee had been willing, since our morning chores were finished and well behind us. Dodging the wagons and riders, we walked along more open ground, able to talk more easily without the onslaught of dirt and debris.

The front of the wagon line stretched before us, perhaps 50 wagons in length. Behind us, trailing as far as the eye could see, came the rest of the wagons, like a multicolored ost forever following a path of prey. I couldn't help but be in awe when I looked around me. The whip and snap of brightly colored flags and banners competed only with the multitudes of colors on wagon canvases, and contrasted sharply with the browns and deeper shadowed colors of bosk and animals. It was like a great sea of paint, dotting the plains with the brush strokes of a mighty people. Sounds and smells were as plentiful as colors, and if I sought peace or quiet, I knew it would be a long time before I would be satisfied. A drum beat kept pace with the lumbering roll of wagon wheels and songs drifted on the crisp breeze, coming and going like musical passages that faded and grew, making an entire symphony.

I was trying to see everything. I turned and twirled, keeping the bells at my ankle in constant chiming as I found one sight after another to marvel at. I was looking as well, trying to find that familiar physique even from a distance. Dee was laughing, then suddenly took hold of my hand and drug me toward a group of men riding slowly, keeping watch on the beginning wagons. I thought she had spotted the Warrior, but try as I might, I could not pick Him out of the group. I began to wonder if my mind's eye had tricked me as to what He might look like, when I heard her breath exhale with a sensual greeting. The introductions were not necessary, for if ever I could envision what love and adoration might look like upon a woman's face, it was all there softly stained on Dee's face. And she was beautiful.

She's in love, you can tell)
(She's a woman in love)
(Just a woman in love)

Your eyes are the eyes of a woman in love
And oh, how they give you away
Why try to deny you're a woman in love
When I know very well what I say

I say no moon in the sky ever lent such a glow
Some flame deep within made them shine
Those eyes are the eyes of a woman in love
And may they gaze ever more into mine
Tenderly gaze evermore into mine
(Four Aces)

He asked what we were doing, then asked me what I planned to do when I found my Brave Warrior. I drug myself away from the moment lost in the look of Dee to realize that it was a question posed to me. I stumbled over my words several times before I lamely held up the package of warm food, gaining enough composure to add a gracious thank you for letting Dee work with me. Pleasantries aside, He still wished to know what I planned when I found said intended recipient, and I gushed out something akin to wrapping Him up in a hug of thanks for letting me stay here. His eyes took on an amused gleam, and His mouth parted in a broad smile, and the slight rock of shoulders indicated inner laughter. He then told us that Fonce of the Tuchuk was not riding up front today. Perhaps further back I might find Him, but it was likely to be quite a walk, or even a good run. I professed that I loved to run. This brought the upward perk of eyebrows and the invitation to run the bola for Him. Others joined round and before I knew what was happening, wagers were being placed. I confided in Dee later that I possessed no great skill in running, just a passion for the exhilarating dance over the ground. I also had no idea what this was all about, running and bolas. This time, her look had me worried.

A good ahn after I had passed wagon upon wagon, waved time and again, grown so used to the constant jangle of bells that they seemed to be a part of the wind itself, I slowed. I had seen no hint or shadow of my Warrior, nor had anyone that I asked along the way. The meal was cold, and long past being tasty, and the distance back to the front of the line loomed long and arduous. The Central Fire had dipped behind clouds that were clinging to the tips of grass in the distance. The air was cooler, and I knew it would be time to pause for the evening before long. I turned, running back the way I had come, though the way was harder for all the times I kept looking back over my shoulder.

I sat alone that night, comforted in the semicircle grouping of wagons and kept warm by a pelt while resting on one of the platforms. I had rearranged the beads on the fluffed up furs, set the chips of dung to glow within their fiery confines, and made sure more were available for later use. I had no special treat this night to share, and so I just tied up a portion of cheese chunks. I sat tracing designs with my fingertip over the grain of wood, trying to think of what more I could do when the woman Asria approached.

I was so happy to see her, though she came without her daughter and that made me hold my breath for an ihn. When she offered the bowl of succulent food, scented with a blend of spice that tantalized my senses, and hot enough to transfer the heat even to the bowl, I could have kissed her in thanks. I knew she was probably still hurting inside, missing her companion of the heart. I could see it in her eyes, the soft sadness that still lingered there. How nice of her to gather up the will to care about others. I started to ask her to stay awhile, but she hurried off as quickly as she arrived. I hope she returns. I think it would be wonderful.

Pillow Talk

Yama rode by a square cut in the canvas, perched upon a creamy white kaiila with liver brown spots. She didn't wave, but held on to a bright pink hat that had several feathers sticking out of the brim.
Uncle Dray came next, straddling a fence of midnight temwood, and he kept reaching out a hand toward me, but it just never came close enough.
Mag sped by, furiously peddling and pushing a wagon cart, with Blackie grunting inside it.
Then Yellow Teeth, with a dusty musty smell that made me choke, tried to crawl into the window opening, but I rolled away, and the wagon did too and he fell down below the line of my vision.
The sky was dark grays and mottled purples, a strangled cry of morning trying to break free.
The leather bracelet I once wore flew past, and the winged creature broke free and, taking the dangling bells with it, slipped to a comfortable hold around my ankle. It's presence was warm and connecting, a slim chain of brushed gold melted away into the shadow, but a hand was visible, just barely, outlined in silt upon black and a voice called my name, a name I did not know but I knew in my soul it was me.

Yama once told me that I slept like a rock, and all evidence pointed to her being correct. I awoke to the rocking rhythm of the wagon swaying from side to side and clearly in movement. Everything around me was a lighter shade of darkness, and I gathered that it was still well before full daylight outside. The dregs of dream appeared like flitting wisps of breath and I smiled or shivered involuntarily as I crept cautiously toward the flaps of wagon. The one I rode in, the cavernous slave wagon, was lashed tightly to one before it, and it appeared, that to the one before it. Next to me on either side, more wagons lumbered in the same linked fashion. The dust and debris alone was enough to make me duck my head more than once. I could see the shadows of those walking or riding beyond the lashed wagons, but faces and voices were not familiar.

My hands instinctively wrapped the still warm fur tighter around me, and sought for the lumpy pelt in the basket near the flap openings where I had left it. I breathed a bit of relief that the lamp was safely cuddled in the cradle I had made for it. Like everything else I had come upon, except for the packed supply wagon, it seemed nothing but what was absolutely needed was kept. Perhaps that was a necessity when you lived upon the plains. With all the movement and the harsh life, I could see that keeping things simple would make life all the easier. This lamp, however, was not a necessity. It was a nicety. Something not just utilitarian, but pretty. How like the Brave Warrior to try to make other's lives just a little nicer. I wanted to preserve that gift for gift it was, take care of it, appreciate it. Maybe one day I would even get a chance to ask him how to use it.

Dee appeared sometime after the Central Fire had started to turn the mud clumps and dust in the air into brilliant splotches of gold and brown. She ran easily beside the wagon and called instructions of how to disembark from the platform. It took a few tries, though not as many as getting back on would take. I was rather grateful to have both her company and her help. I did not want to look like a total fool at my public appearances. She spent some time teaching me the run, pick, save and toss into a tarp under a wagon method of gathering fuel. This was something I was adept at, having done something similar every year of my life that I could remember. The dash between the rumbling wagons became a game between us, but it was a valuable lesson as well. There was little room for error, with the huge wheels almost brushing a shoulder or shin, ready to capture a misplaced foot, or snag a dangling bit of fabric.

That first night Dee returned when we made camp. Countless things needed to be tended to - fires to be made, food to be cooked, animals to be tended. She took me from one to the next filling my head with tasks, and my hands and heart with a sense of accomplishment. I wanted to give, both to give back in thanks, and to give in the hope of making a difference. When I returned to the wagons that had become my shelter, I slipped into the one where I had been chained.

If the Warrior should make it back to His wagon at any point in the travels, He would find a few things left for Him. First, would be that His small fire pit was always warm, burning softly with that blood red light of smoldering coals. Second, His furs would be rolled out, fluffed, and looking as inviting as they could be. And finally, atop the scrunched up pelt, a nice colorful one, that would make such a divine cushion for His tired brow....a design of beads. much like an open ended heart, or anything the mind might make of it. Trailing away, down the slop of pillow, marching across the furs like little footprints they would go..until they stopped at the manacle end of the slave chain. Here He would find a strip of my old dress tied around the steel, and within the pouch created...a few savory dates. That first night I hurried out, still having another task to complete.

I mixed up one more batch of spice to make a mustard orange color and took one of the thick braided strips of leather from a basket in the slave wagon to paint with. The pictures looked much like the doodling on my journal pages, and quite the contrast to the broad vista of paint already on canvas, but that was my intention. It was my little guide so that I could find my way, and make sure I found the correct wagon. I was taking no chances, and an empty thud of my heart added punctuation to that feeling. Small flowers, swirling strokes, winged creatures and a single open ended heart would cluster together in a small patch. I tried my best to incorporate the design with the surrounding colors, picking a spot at the back of each wagon that was lashed to it's brother and belonging to the Brave Warrior Fonce, and when I stood back I felt rather happy with the results. I spoke to the stars and moons then, showing them my handiwork, and admitting - yes - I was adding my dreams to a larger canvas. Then I slept - like a rock.

Finally

Trying to imagine what a slave wagon would be, was not something I had ever done. I had - during my life - wondered about the lives of the women that resided near the bunkhouses, but I had been clearly warned to stay away from them. Curiosity had nipped at me more than once, but Fate had intervened at every turn, always directing my path elsewhere. When I entered this time, without restriction, I had many expectations, and just as many uncertainties.

The wagon was large and roomy, sparsely furnished, much like the Brave Warrior's wagon. The necessities existed, furs and pelts and blankets, a small cooking brazier for when the larger fire outside was not practical or wanted, a few crates and many baskets of every shape and color. Filing the baskets were beads, strips of leather, ribbons and small bones, even a comb with a few teeth missing. Chains and their ending manacles were scattered throughout the space and I counted, but stopped after six, recalling Nya's proclamation that they would most likely be filled in the near future. Even if this wasn't just a wagon just for me, I found Warrior Fonce to be very generous in providing such nice accommodations. I had even discovered the most exquisite decoration, carved with rich detail on honey colored wood. After many turnings and tippings, the testing of my fingertips over the indentations and ridges, and the sniffing of openings, I realized it was a lamp - but how to fill or light it completely escaped me. It sang a lullaby of home to me, complete with the promise of bogeyman chasing warm light and the simple characteristic of giving the space a feeling of being lived in. All the wagon truly needed now were a few pictures matching those I had tacked up within the Warrior's wagon.

I wished I had more artistic flair. I sat outside, soaking up the light of Lar' Torvis and smudging more of my spice paint over two more pages of my journal. The sunsets and sunrises were easy enough to accomplish, blending the colors available to mimic the broad strokes of the sky that I had witnessed in my time. The smaller details were not so accomplished, tending to be doodles much like I did on the margins of my writing pages. Swirls and curlicues, hearts and many petalled flowers, winged creatures with long delicate antennae and dark eyes on fringed, striped wings. Around me, both on the wagons I called home and the ones that peeked through beyond, passionate artists had sculpted stories and panoramas and left them for the world to gaze upon. Paint and canvas took on life and throbbed with the heartbeat of the story teller. Some were detailed depictions of places and things, people and events. Others, like the vessels of my Brave Warrior, were broad sketches pulsing with color and song and meaning. I wondered if I could fly in the sky for only a short while, what the brilliant paintings on the wagons of Warrior Fonce would look like.

Dee did not return that day, and for that matter, neither did Nya. I had promised, though there were many times I debated on going back on my word, I had promised to stay close to the wagons of the Brave Warrior. While I felt rather certain I could find those wagons no matter what, with all the changing of positions and getting ready for the move, I didn't want to take a chance. My sentiments matched Dee's - I did not want to start off my new life - lost.

One wagon, two wagons, three wagons in a row...

I was heading to the wagon next to the one I had slept in when I became inspired to dance around the fire pit just once to hear the sound it would make. Dee started laughing and then told me in a tone that hinted of seriousness that the Tuchuk belled dweller slaves because they didn't trust them. I suppose I wasn't meant to take such joy in them, those delicate noisemakers, but I couldn't help it. I told her that I could understand the idea, after all...they didn't know me or I them. I confided then that I just couldn't help the feeling that my Brave Warrior liked knowing where I was, and I liked it. Dee added...so he can run and hide? We both laughed and then began the wagon inspections.

If anyone anywhere lived a more simplistic life than the Brave Warrior Fonce, I had yet to meet them. At least as far as his personal wagon went. He did, however, have all manner of ...things...in his other wagons. From blankets to stores of food and trinkets. Anything and everything possible stacked as high as a hand could reach took both my and Dee's breath as we ogled with wide eyes. Dee finally said it must have been from His time as Ubar. I can not say it surprised me, only that He no longer held that position. Dee's Master had told her, perhaps it was time for the Ubar Fonce to be Ubar of His own. I liked the sentiment of that, and it was showing me just how big and wide the spread of my dreams could reach, and I was just beginning to fill a tiny corner. Much of the supplies were - like the other wagons I would come to find - pretty much packed and ready to go. Whether it had been done a hand ago or a full year ago I couldn't tell, but it made the urgency of being ready melt away like the last snow beneath the warmth of the Central Fire.

Cool air nipped at my calves as I pranced toward the next wagon, bringing me to a halt to examine the bare expanse of my legs. It was a nonchalant comment Dee offered, saying most of the slave attire was already packed, but she would see what she could find in case I was to wear it. I could suddenly hear Yama saying "See, cover your ankles." She had meant it seriously, but as I had grown older it had become somewhat of a joke. I hated wearing shoes, and I couldn't run with all the wadding of skirt down around my ankles. The only time my ankles were ever covered was when I stood still, and that didn't happen all the time. All wrapped up in the belligerence of early teens, I had pushed her on it one day.

"What does it matter if my ankles show?" I had turned to ask her one day.
"It's not proper for a lady."
"Why?" Straight and to the point I was.
"It gives the wrong impression to boys." Yama had turned to study me when she answered.
"Some boy is going to look at my muddy scraped ankle and fall helplessly in some trance and simply have to whisk me off as his captive to a life of decadence and ill repute?"
Yama said, "You should be so lucky."

There was so much more than just my ankles showing now, even the angle of knee, the increased breadth of thigh. I think Lar Torvis decided to focus all of his heat and intensity right on the rounded spots of my cheeks and leave an imprint of rosy red. That red was further enhanced by the arrival of two kaiila kicking up mud and dirt into a cloud that peppered silt over everything in sight. The riders were young, though even in youth they had a skill with the kaiila that was unmatched by any I had seen. One expertly flipped a giggling Nya off his saddle while the other directed his beast to size up Dee through a slow circle of inspection. I retreated backward up the stairs of the closest wagon, given away with every other step by the light melody of bells. I didn't escape without notice, nor feeling the weight of an assessment of my own before I slipped into the sanctuary of the shadows behind canvas. I took one quick breath and instantly thought of...Goldie.

The scents were not the same, and there were no purple and gold tapestries, nor squat vases or even a shelf of dolls, but the feeling was every bit the same as stepping into Goldie's wagon. The air was thick and intoxicating, hovering around jars and containers securely tied into crates and baskets. The faint outline of what looked like a sigil stained the wood of floor near the spot where the small brazier would sit. From the ribbing of wagon top hung strings and knotted designs, shuddering in the motion of my entrance and the buffet of breeze against canvas. And a discordant choir of voices whispered.."come in, come in." I shook my head, stopping them instantly, and let the voices I was certain existed come back into focus. Dee's face appeared at the wagon's opening, and she quickly begged me to depart, saying this must be the Spex wagon. I wouldn't argue, though now I was eager to meet the Spex. I wondered if she was quirky and funny like Goldie, and made tea in a little round pot.

I would have asked then and there, but Nya was informing Dee that her Master wanted her back at his wagons as soon as she was done here. There was no mistaking the blessing of happiness that danced over Dee's face when she heard that. With only one wagon to go, we hurried on over before Dee would have to depart. Nya then directed her attention at me, asking about my release from the chains, and I happily displayed the jewelry that replaced it. Nya wrinkled her nose and said.."He tired of you already, did he?" My mouth fell open, but that reply dissolved into the air as I brushed it aside. Dee was showing me the slave wagon. "My very own wagon?" I asked with all the surprise I felt. Both women were laughing, and Dee explained that my Brave Warrior Fonce actually owned another slave. Nya added quickly that she was sure he would get more, since, men like a lot of variety.

I had never shared my room with anyone, except for my cousin Edda. We had spent our nights together staying up long past the time we were supposed to, just talking and playing games and giggling. When we grew older, we started painting the pictures of dreams and hopes, the very ones that I carry with me now. Edda was always the better painter, having this rich imagination that brought in colors and designs I had never thought of. Even still, her dreams had more to do with words and paper, writing and stories, than anything else. My life on the plains was a pleasant retreat, a vacation meant to inspire her flow of thoughts. When the time came for her to return to the city, she was more than happy to say goodbye to the breeze and grass.

Dee was explaining that this was where I was to sleep, Nya was cavorting through the wagon alleys, calling out to someone down the row. And I was juggling a whole lot of knowledge that needed absorbing. And it was just beginning.

To dream

The night was cool and crisp, as if everything were brought into sharp focus and deep detail. I had stayed out as long as I could keep my eyes open, talking to the moon sisters and counting the stars. I could see Yama doing the same, and a pang of missing her enveloped me with a deep hold. I traced the path of my journey since leaving her, telling her all the stories and realizing just how much they had shaped my life. I realized, with another sharp twinge, that most likely my family thought all of us gone to them forever - myself, Toad, Griff. I knew I could no more change that grief, than I could change that of my Brave Warrior's. Time...and open hearts were all that could help.

I trailed my security of chain back to the furs within the wagon and curled up for a much needed rest. It was as if all the trials of my trip had finally caught up to me and we had a conversation and they finally returned to history with a contented smile. The wagon felt warm, the crimson shadows paraded against the canvas and I slipped off to sleep dreaming of unfinished sketches and the whole world just waiting to be colored in.

When morning came, it came with the smell of food rich in the air and the much more awake than I voice of Dee. I most likely scowled as I sat up, trying to push all the sleep and fuzz from my brain, but it didn't last long. How could it? The Central Fire was pouring through the opening of the wagon like it was spilling from a great golden jug. I dressed, or started to, but something drew my attention, and then it made my heart flip a few times in my chest. There, circled around my ankle, where that thick manacle used to be, sat this slender strand of bells. I lifted my foot, twirled it, stamped it and then just touched each and every one over and over. It was surprise and a thick emotional clutch at my throat that kept me from answering the beckoning call to Dee right away. They struck me so poignantly that I twirled around just to hear them. All I could think of was that he was there, and how he could do such a thing without waking me made me laugh over and over. It did not escape me either, the tumble of feelings deep within that thought of the care he took of me, of his finger's touch, and what he might have been thinking. Did he finally rest, here, in the familiarity of his own things? I hoped so, and I hoped somehow, I provided a bit of comfort.

When I finally joined Dee, left ankle first and a smile as broad as the side of the wagon, she just laughed and patted the lowest platform step. It was one I could never reach before and I took great delight in settling down beside her. Dee told me of the things she was to show me, to teach me, and I hopped up from the step anxious to get working. I told her that I knew next to nothing and the sooner we got started the better, but she still had that patient smile for me. Then she pointed out the basket of leather she had brought for me to work on in my spare time. She thought I had plenty to keep me busy now, and she touched my hand, saying my Master was very specific about what I was to learn. Those words - my Master - nearly took away my breath, but I still managed to beg Dee to take me with her when she took Him some refreshment later that day. I told her, no dream I had was ever this fantastic.

The beast below

There hasn't been many visitors near the wagons today. I can understand, for there is probably much to get ready for this big undertaking of movement. Sometimes I think I hear a voice nearer than usual, or maybe the scritch of sound against the boards of platform. The beast beneath the wagon is a pretty good alarm, alerting me long before my inadequate ears catch the sound. He and I have settled into an agreement of sorts. I stay pretty much where I am supposed to and he doesn't feel the need to snarl at me. He suffers my conversation pretty nicely too, hardly cracking an eye while I tell him all my tales. And I can tell when an unfamiliar face steps a little too close to the imaginary circle that surrounds the grouping of wagons. It is a low growl, hardly noticeable, except I have found myself listening for it.

In the past days, quite a few had come by, leaving things for the Brave Warrior. Food, jars, packages wrapped in pretty cloths. At first I brought them in and set them on a crate that served as a sort of table. Last night I packed them all inside the crate, keeping out one jar of honeyed, spiced nuts. It was a few of those that I wrapped up in the strip of cloth to send with Dee this morning. We spoke briefly, for she was in a hurry, but still promised to see that something was taken out to the Brave Warrior. In exchange, I asked her to bring something that I could help her with - mending, or packing, or anything she could think of.

Sometime in the afternoon I heard the beast below pacing. Not even the low unpleasant tones of sound came, just a slow pace, and then the pause of silence. I grew curious, and wary, lifting up the links of steel to minimize my own sounds as I crept closer to the split of canvas. The hair at the nape of my neck lifted, as did a prickling sensation along my arms. I peeked through the flaps, only to blink in the brightness of the Central Fire. It would take more than just that little slit for me to be able to see. Below, the sleen was still silent, and I thought perhaps my imagination was creating all this spark and snap of anticipation. I tugged open the flaps and stepped out, only to hit face to chest with an obstruction, and the sudden loud demanding snarls of the beast from below rose into such a racket.

The sleen was no longer below, however, but snapping at the stumbling retreating form I had just collided with. I had gotten hardly a look at him, for it was definitely a him, much larger and stockier than I. Dressed no different than all the other Tuchuks I had seen so far, nothing was distinctive about him. I did get a passing glance at his face. Squat, as if someone had hit him on the top of his head and compressed his features. Small eyes sunk into bone beneath a prominent forehead. And a shock of strawberry blonde hair capped his head.

The rest of my view was of him trying to evade the snapping jaws of the sleen, who had easily diverted the interloper's path from the wagon itself and over the edge of the railing. In our crash of bodies, I had ended up on the platform, landing hard on my butt. The last leg of the sleen clipped my boot and sank a claw through to tear my skin as he tore over the perimeter of wagon space. A few moments later he returned, ambling back to his space below. I could almost see a smug look on his face this time. I asked him what in the world that was all about. He just slid his tongue along one fang.

Home

I have noticed alot of noise here in this enlarged camp. It sometimes reminds me of being with the carnival caravan, and I half expect to see people dancing through the alleys and around the wagons, maybe even some with blue painted faces. I did manage to coerce a few gaggles of children close enough to ask why it seemed there was so much going on. At one point, one of the children's mothers trailed behind and she did not seemed pleased that I was keeping them audience.

It was the first time I came face to face with a bit of disdain here. I wasn't entirely sure how to react, but from what I could gather, since I was not Tuchuk, nor at least had the decency to be a properly reduced to nothing but weak dweller slave, her children were in danger of some sort. Pride was flashing in her eyes though, and who could blame a mother for protecting her young? I explained that I was new here, and found all the noise of drums and sounds fascinating. I wondered about all the activity, and the bit of talk I had overheard about preparations. I wondered if there was some celebration to be taking place, and must have sparked an interest in her thoughts somewhere. She stood taller and smiled, telling me that they were preparing for the great move South in a few days time.

From what I can gather, it is the great move of the wagon peoples to return to their home in the south that I have heard of. It is during that time that the small villages and settlements on the plains worried the most about being raided and pillaged. Our ranch had only faced a raid once, and it was long before I had been born. I found it rather exciting, and a bit daunting too. Moving all that way with all these wagons must be quite an undertaking. I had a little bit of happiness to be on this side of the raiding as well.

The woman and children left then, leaving me to my thoughts of the move ahead, and a melancholy remembrance of the ranch. Many of the things I had overheard, or were actually told, were starting to fall into some semblance of order and understanding. All the work on repairs and preparations, combined with the festive energy. The helping hands of so many, stepping up to relieve the harder tasks for some. This place, this conglomeration of wagons and people reminded me in ways of my home on the ranch. People who cared about each other, stood side by side against foe, and held a collective pride. It was a bit of stability in my still upended world of decisions. That, and oddly, the chain I was still attached to. I retreated into the confines of the wagon, trailing the links through my fingers as I walked slowly. I should have been eager to taste the dirt beneath my running feet, but I was not. I should have been aching for the departure from Yama, but I was not. Curious, I finally decided that would all come in time. I had taken some comfort in being right where I was supposed to be, as it would seem.

I took a look around the insides of the wagon where I had spent much of my time. There is a stark neatness to it, interrupted by a splash of contrast now and again. While I am not sure where my Brave Warrior sleeps, there is enough personal effects to make me think this is his primary wagon. There are a few little things that make me think there is a woman somewhere as well. What strikes me the most, however, is the lack of lived in feeling. A sense of...home. Perhaps it is just that I have not been in enough men's residences to know better. I've not really been in -any- man's residence.

From the looks of things, there is not that much packing to do. Perhaps he had taken care of the most of it, but a trace of undisturbed dust on the lip of one trunk made me think it had not even been unpacked. About the only place that looked really lived in was the corner where I often sat. My journal lay open against the floor, my pelt crumpled up next to it, as if I had been called away mid thought. I decided to try and be a bit useful, packing up the things that I didn't think would be used within the next few days. It got me to thinking about the Warrior Fonce. Was he even taking the time to take care of himself?

I had seen it before, especially when someone tried to work through grief, disappointment, or simply loneliness. They poured themselves into task after task, but forgot the most important task of all. Themselves. Or maybe it was just something men do, focusing on fixing, hard labor, and ensuring that all they care for is taken care of. Whatever motivated it, I was going to do what I thought could help. I started with the few cans of spices still on a shelf. Cinnamon, pepper and something I was not familiar with. They made it into a basket, only to be brought right back out again. Instead, I shared a few pages of my journal and used moistened spice dust to make a few pictures to tack on the wall. Doesn't every home need a good sunset hanging on it's canvas?

When sunrise came and Dee brought me the morning meal, sitting to talk for a few brief moments, I had several things on my mind. I cajoled and bargained and eventually secured a promise from Dee to take a nice hot meal and a fresh bota of water out to where ever the Brave Warrior was working, or helping, as i figured he would be. Dee had brought me some of those succulent fresh dates and I tied them up in a clean strip from the remains of the white dress into a little knotted bag for Dee to give to him also. Dee asked if there was a message to go along with it and I thought for a while and then nodded after a moment. "Yes, tell him I miss his ears." I also promised some type of repayment if she would get me one of those buckets of water. Today, the tunic was going to be cleaned.

Aftermath

Dee did not return this evening, but a girl called Nya did. She brought a round of bread and a bowl of gravy, cheese and sweet soft dates. She said they were taken from a recent caravan raid and I had to wonder, what caravan. I have saved them for last, to cherish as little treats for the rest of the evening. Dee must have told her that I don't eat meat, since not a chunk of anything was in the rich stew gravy, but both women had admonished me that I had best start.

It all went back to Blackie so many years ago. An uglier tarsk probably didn't exist, but he had taken a liking to me when I was very young, and consequently I had spent a lot of time with a corkscrew tailed tarsk following me around. We spent a summer together, and many days into the cold months as well. It had been cold, so very cold that everything living spent most of the days huddled together just trying to keep warm. Uncle Dray had been travelling and when he returned, he brought many men and their families with him. Our supplies were meager, the last of flours and grains meant to hold us over until the warmth crept over the grass and earth and brought renewal. Yama was determined to prepare enough food to fill all our bellies, and called for the stoutest animals to provide for us. Blackie was one of them. And from that day onward I have learned to survive on the bounty of things that can not speak to you with their eyes. Kohut tried to tell me to thank the animal for what it provided, to ease my discomfort, and I do. I thank them as I cook a meal, as I set it to the table, as I watch others enjoy the fruits of my labor. I just can not partake.

It is now, sitting safely within the wagon, that the little bits come back to me, where the details emerge from the surrounding picture and I can see all the little things that my eyes swept over in search of the more prominent panorama. The air has been warmer than the past few days. Most still wore a jacket, but I hadn't even thought of one once the Brave Warrior returned. He is warm all over, and I felt rather comfortable sitting next to him.. It wasn't until after he left, and the woman as well, that I even realized I had not brought my pelt to wrap around me, hiding my bare legs. His hair is like a dark waterfall of rain that flows over his shoulders. It sets off the tone of his skin, and highlights those scars borne by his cheeks. Her hair, the woman's whose name is Asria I think, has auburn lights that appear and disappear when she turns her head. It is not the chestnut marking of mine, but a redder tint, that sets off her paler eyes. She was nervous, or out of her comfort, but relaxed as she continued talking, much like me. Still, she wore a sorrow so deep it was written in every movement she made. Having lost her mate, and her daughter's father, has left her frozen in a moment of time. She reminded me of a song I had heard a long time ago..

"Fare thee well, little broken heart
Downcast eyes, lifetime loneliness
Whatever walks in my heart will walk alone
Constant longing for the perfect soul
Unwashed scenery forever gone
Whatever walks in my heart will walk alone
No love left in me
No eyes to see the heaven beside me
My time is yet to come
So I'll be forever yours" (Nightwish)

My heart felt like it had fallen to my feet and lay in bottomless waste, when I heard the story of the battle that took her companion. Words become so inadequate then. I was glad that she and the Brave Warrior could share the aftermath. I wondered how many others had fallen victim in this battle, and selfishly I was glad at least one of them hadn't. I don't know if he feels so lucky. She asked me to take care of him. Then she and her daughter turned to find their way back among the wagons. That is when it started...the "oh shit what have I done" feeling. Not one with regret, one with the realization that my dreams had been nothing but sketches on a blank canvas, and it was time to get out the colors.

Jump

As much as I waffled on seeing the Brave Warrior, each ahn that ticked by tipped the scales further and further in one direction. All my nervousness and the weight of my decision kept pushing back further, and what kept floating to the forefront was the hope to see him. I wanted to see his eyes, to hear the male roughness of his voice, to watch his wisdom shade his features, to hear his poetic answers. And when one is waiting, the time seems to drag on forever.

And then he was there.

We sat on the platform of his wagon, me getting as close as I could with the links of chain stretched to their limit. I like to be close to him. There is this scent that clings to him that is not really a scent but simply the essence of him, and it is exciting and calming and thought provoking and arousing. It was one of those moments where I knew, I knew inside me with every thud of my heart what I wanted. I think I had for some time, really, but my mind likes to have everything in order before it concurs with my heart and soul. I had asked every woman I could find about their thoughts and beliefs, but I wanted one more survey. I wanted the thoughts of a man. I wanted - his - thoughts. I have noticed, when we have conversations we have several at one time. He doesn't speak alot, but what he says is laced with such clarity and understanding, and such import. We have the conversation that is spoken, and then we have the one that is not spoken. One that underlies, or hovers. There are the words he speaks that are taken at face value, only to be brought to mind later and thought upon, bringing even more to that simple exchange.

He has this firm grip on reality that I both admire and want to mess with at times. He allowed that the differences between a woman companioned and a woman enslaved tended to plague him, which relieved me immensely and I felt like I was not wading through murky waters alone. He was upfront with the common concepts, what is thought to make a woman feel vital and alive. There were, and are, some concerns that I have. I am a novice in the departments of men, and their pleasures. And, since I have been given the choice to give freely, I found it hard to profess a heart and soul so blindly. I also found it hard to understand why he would wish to own a woman, her life, direct her focus, without her heart. At the same time, that idea gave me immense comfort, since my heart and soul were still in the initial throes of fledgling feelings. Some things I think I said just to see how he would react. I think he knew that, for he charmed me right into professing my desire find out who he was, my want to stay, my foot poised over that bottomless precipice by offering to take me away.

Then he asked me why.

I was just coming to grips with the fact that I had dug inside and pulled my dreams out by their iridescent rainbow colored wings and laid them at his feet. Why? Because - I didn't want to go back. I didn't want to wonder if I had walked away from all I could ever hope for. I didn't want to live the rest of my life thinking of how it might have been. I didn't want to dream of how life might look through his reflection. I wanted to know. There are no guarantees, good or bad, I had to take that leap and take my chances. I was not the woman who had come searching earlier, too confused to actually ask for what she wanted. I wanted to know if this could be it...and I was holding my breath.

A woman and a little girl were there suddenly. When they arrived I couldn't be sure, for I was caught in the vortex of a whirlwind of life altering moment. He spoke to her with ease, shedding the seriousness of our conversation and I realized, how intensely he had been probing me. Perhaps, this was as intriguing and critical for him as it was for me. I was so wrapped up I hardly heard the conversation, until I realized the woman was concerned over the little girl. Sweet as candy, dressed in yellow, she played quietly nearby. It was then that I learned a little bit of what my Brave Warrior had been through that day that we met.

The death of friends and loved ones can not ever be easy. We grow used to them, in a million different ways. Without them, we have all these holes, open and raw, that we just don't know what to do with. The world, in cruelty and blessing, continues to turn, despite the fact that we are bleeding out all over. Shocked and numb, we move through the days, some needing to simply make a connection with another who is as numb as they are. Others, square their shoulders and take care of us all. I think the Brave Warrior had taken on the tasks of doing, for he made sure the woman and child were all right, taken care of, generous with everything he had. The truth, and the hope, is that eventually we reach out, finding a hand that helps the tender wounds. The Warrior had told me he didn't have his dreams anymore. Perhaps I was just meant to share mine.

Then he left, leaving me with a look that pierced right through to my insides. A combination of amusement and the promise of something I couldn't envision. I had the distinct feeling this was not over yet.


"So I'll be holdin' my breath
Could this be the end?
Is it that moment when"

Waiting

Dee had graciously brought me a bucket of water, fresh from a barrel right around the other end of the wagon. That snarly beast below never left her, or I, out of his sights, but he did grant us the use of the water without incident. Once I was alone again I tried to keep busy, as if working and concentrating on things would keep my mind from racing and perhaps put all my thoughts into order like vulo in a row. The bucket of water was sufficient to clean the worst of the mud and grime from my arms and face. I even got some of it out of my hair and untangled the urt's nest that probably gave me a hideous wild look. I felt a little better, and I smiled a bit at myself. My Brave Warrior had brought out this femaleness in me, the want to look at my best for when I next saw him. My muddy dress was the next to sink into the brilly chill of the water, taking at least most of the mud and grass from the delicate white fabric. It was forever stained, but at least it would be clean, just in case that was what I had to wear. The last to be scrubbed was the wagon, though I had already swept out as much of the mud as I could. At least I wasn't so worried about getting everything dirty with every move I made. I still had a strong hope for a bath, but that bucket just wasn't big enough.

I had hung my dress over the edge of the railing outside, when a woman approached. She didn't meet my smile with her own, and so I paused in my onslaught of greeting and invitation to sit a while and answer my questions. Her clothing was well kept, soft tabuk hide, or at least something light sable in color that fit her figure with complimentary seams. A thick jacket lay across her shoulders, but was not fastened and the edges hung open to reveal the jacket's fur lining and the bodice of her dress. A singular gash at the neckline, angling from her throat toward her shoulder was the only thing that seemed out of place. Except for her face, and the lost feeling that she seemed to wear like a great shroud around her. Her eyes, the mixture of late summer grass, were dried out verdant golds. Her cheeks were raw, pinked, as if she had suffered each day in the bite of cold winds. She didn't speak, just looked around me, past me, almost through me, until she finally summoned up enough desire to search my own questioning face. I am not sure what she wanted, but I finally crouched to offer out my hand and tell her that the Brave Warrior wasn't here. I am not sure if she was disappointed or relieved, and I could sympathize with that confusion. She timidly touched my offered palm and then melted into the shadows left by the brilliant light as quickly as she had appeared and I took that feeling with me back into the wagon. Sometimes, what we want so badly, we just can't summon up enough to reach for it.

Wants and Needs

Morning came much earlier than I wanted it to, bright and dazzling and seeping into the wagon with a persistence. It pulsed inside the wagon, and I thought perhaps there was some magical spell ongoing, but it turned out to be the flaps opening and closing with the push of brother wind. I imagined it was telling me to wake up already. There were voices too, human voices that existed outside the world I had been living in within the canvas. As I cleaned up the area I had been sleeping in, I recalled a hint of the dream I must have been having just before I woke. My amulet of blessings had turned into a multi petalled bloom, and just as young girls often do, I had been plucking them one by one, saying the answer is yes, the answer is no. I had to laugh at myself as I realized I woke before that last petal - and the answer - was arrived at.

Once I stepped out onto the platform, greeting the day with a long larl like stretch, I settled down to business. I felt I needed more information, I needed to make my pros and cons list, I needed to examine the silver linings in each cloud. I needed to see if my dreams were in need of stretching, maybe taking out a paint box and filling in other colors. There was a lot of activity in the camp this day, and I wondered if this was something special. Not many came right near the small group of wagons where I stood, but I could easily call to those wandering by if I wished to. I looked to the other wagons, wondering if the Brave Warrior had slept the night in one. If he had, I suddenly hoped he was already gone doing whatever he might need to do. I was just not ready yet.

A slave with honey brown curls that lay like sausage casings against her cheeks was approaching the platform with a steaming bowl and another bota slung over her arm. Her name was Dee, short and simple, and - she said - easy for her Master to shout. I asked if she would sit and talk with me, and she agreed, but not until after she had completed a few chores. I found I looked forward to it, and realized I could use a little company. As I ate, I called out as cheerily as possible to any that I saw ambling past. Some just waved and went on their way. Some paused, seemed to study me from afar and then went on their way. Two women finally were curious enough to come a little closer and I asked them to join me. I realize I must look like quite a sight, dirty still, but at least I was covered in a pelt so that I kept warm and covered. I explained to them, briefly, that I was struggling with a problem, and would like to know how they felt about a few questions I had. Asking them what kept them devotedly free, what hopes and dreams they had for their lives, and how those had changed from their youth, along with their viewpoint on slaves was probably an awful lot to be asking at a first meeting. But we were basically strangers, and strangers sometimes can share alot without the fear of it being intimate knowledge.

I did the same with a few slave girls that happened by the little clearing I affectionately now called home. I can not say any of the answers were prominent enough to make up my mind for me. In fact, it was quite the contrary. I felt even more confused than when I had started. Some women seemed destined for bearing, nurturing and caring for children and their extended families. Others held firmly to the perfection of their skills and talents in their birthright clan as their primary driving force. Opinions about slaves were so varied and many that had they been colors, I would have had a full spectrum.

When Dee finally returned, a basket of mending in hand, I warned her that I hoped she had plenty of time. For this was going to take a while. She was easy to talk to, having a sweet sense of humor that I found enjoyable. She seemed to have a ready answer for everything I asked. I started with questions about the Brave Warrior Fonce, admitting to her that he was much younger than I had expected. She asked me if my choices would have been easier had he been the much older well seasoned Warrior I had envisioned, and I hardly hesitated before I said without a doubt. She asked me if I would have been happier had he given me no choice. I had to think upon that. That question should have been easy, but it wasn't. Had he given me no choice, I would have done my best to adapt. That much I knew. When she offered that he could have given me back to the Paravaci, I wasn't so comfortable with adapting.

Then she asked what I wanted. I mustered up the basic idea of to love and be loved. Dee wanted to know what being loved meant, and there I stumbled a bit. I realized, I had no easy answer to that question. To share everything in my life with another, with someone who cared in return. Dee thought those were vague concepts, that tended to grow in clarity each time you were involved in a relationship. I said I wanted to be wanted, then she told me that the Vaci wanted me and it didn't seem so important then. She wondered how it would work had I gone on to the City. I told her as much as I could envision. I knew well enough that I may not find my perfect picture. Life held no guarantees in such things. Connections could be made and broken with as much ease, and - like anyplace - I could end up in much the same position I was in. Even the idea of returning to my birthplace, Yama's ranch, was a secondary thread to my faith in my dream and what I wanted for my future. Dee laughed a bit and said that to her it seemed that how I got to my dream would be the icing on the cake, not the most important part, and in that I had to agree with her. Then she said something, and suddenly it reminded me of what Yama said once - "every relationship is a leap of faith. even ours."

Restless

I did not sleep well. It was not fear that kept me awake, nor loneliness, nor even hunger. A small bowl with chunks of cheeses, flat bread, a few dried berries and even a couple of nuts was brought to me a short time after Brave Warrior Fonce left. There was a bota of water, crisp, cool and refreshing as well. All of my needs were satisfied, from shelter to sustenance to comfort. What was keeping me awake, disturbing the blessed relief of sleep ...was want. I had a choice to make, one that was making me uneasy. But that was not the true core of the matter here. It ran deeper. It centered around...what do you want, Genesee.

How to answer the question of something like want, desire, hopes, wishes and dreams? I settled briefly on the platform, half within the flaps of the wagon and half outside, watching the twinkling stars dance around the moon Sisters. I told them all of my day, slipping my amulet of blessings from beneath the sheath of midnight shirt and tenderly stroked its outer circle. There were countless blessings attached to my amulet, given from family, friends, and the old man that created it. I remembered that night so clearly. It was the celebration of my 15th year. I am fond of things with fives, so the timing seemed all the more perfect to me. We had just finished a magnificent feast of delicious foods and Yama's home was filled with people. There was a little rippling excitement that swelled as we cleared away the dishes and got started on the just visiting part of the evening. For days before, I had become suspicious that something was being talked about when I was out of earshot. People would turn and walk away when they saw me coming. I would catch a face in the doorway of the house, and it would duck away as quickly as a flash of lightning. Once, I stepped into the kitchen and Yama shooed me out so fast I think my head was spinning. Curious, I lingered now and again longer than I should have, but in the end decided I just would enjoy the surprise of knowing when the time was right.

I had no idea it was the efforts of so many that came to create the bundle that was placed in my hand. Tucked tenderly inside a soft cloth was a necklace. Tiny beads ran the length of a strong lace of leather, amber brown in color to almost perfectly match the tie. Dangling from the center was a circle, wrapped in many layers of sky blue thread. Within the blue circle was a bronze button, and radiating like petals were opaque white beads. There was no doubt that they had made me a flower, for blossoms are as much a passion to me as running. I was not told the blessings, only that I could reach for them at any time I felt the need. I have never removed it, cherishing the familiar feel of it tickling between my breasts. And I have been careful about seeking my blessings, reaching only when I absolutely had to. I truly felt that need tonight.

But I did not sleep well. Too much was racing around in my mind, and not one of those things was an answer.

Pleased to meet you

So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politness
Or Ill lay your soul to waste, um yeah
Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name, um yeah
But whats puzzling you
Is the nature of my game, um mean it, get down
Woo, who
Oh yeah, get on down
(Rolling Stones)

"my name is Fonce"

And so it began. I was very pleased to meet you, brave Warrior Fonce. Very pleased to see you walk through my wagon flaps and settled onto what I am now figuring, is your couch. You clean up nice and boy...there is something to be said for physical attraction that knocks the senses loopy and makes everything a dizzy parade of thoughts.

I would have thought I would be writing that my wild and crazy man waltzed into my life and with all the grace of a gentleman accepted my gratitude with a polite reply and offered me the sanctity of a secure place to wait out my days and my next decision. Nothing of the sort happened, though I am not in any way disappointed, just in quite a spot and not really sure what to do with myself.

I am not all that used to being around boys my age. I am not used to being around men even close to my age. I suppose I was to learn the subleties of such things when I joined my family in the City. I was VERY happy to see him both alive and doing well. It was the injuries and his build that actually clicked for me, and I realized this cleaned up version was the man I pinned so much faith and trust on. With the niceties over with, I wanted to know more about him. There was a lot on my mind, alot of questions and things I figured I should be thinking of.

He was so easy to talk to. Even if he started everything off on a roll that took a path I didn't quite want to travel yet. He made it utterly clear that he owned my future. I wanted to know exactly what that meant. I wanted to know what it meant - to him. I understood what it meant to the Paravaci, I understood the concept, I had an inkling of at least some of the import of the chain at my ankle. I wanted to know his intentions. Maybe I was just trying to buy time, but I had learned that my survival had depended on knowledge, acceptance, and action. He seemed as interested in me as I in him. He has an easy way about doing such that left me spilling my dreams in short order, all the while inspecting me. My dreams, as colorful and grand as they are, were never so defined to have detail and explicit content. They have shifted and changed since I left the ranch, absorbing my experiences and the colors left behind. I explained that to him, that a man at my table with fat children upon my knee were not the requirement. I had been taught, through example and belief, to be open to all options that life had to offer. Both my time alone, and my time with the merchant caravan had shown me that my dream might evolve so much differently than I thought.

There were times, brief flashes of moment, when I noted something deep within him. He spoke of giving up on his own dreams. I did not, and do not want to believe that our dreams can be so wrong, and I told him as much. Perhaps it is times and circumstance that has brought him to such a point. I know I am not ready to give up on my dreams, but defining them is not as easy as I thought they would be. He had a way of gently probing them so that I could see where they needed more attention. It was a bit uncomfortable, to feel that uncertain, but I wondered if he was in fact passing on experience learned. His wants are very definite, and that comes as no surprise to me. I figure he has put a good amount of trial and error into them to find that simple answer. My answer seems vague and rather uncertain. Even more so once he laid out a decision for me to make.

There was this issue of him owning my future, paid for by his actions. The very ones I attributed to him with full gratitude. By rights, I knew I was just dancing around the issue and it wasn't mine to bargain with. If it were a normal setting, the whole thing might now be easier. I could use my skills to adapt, whether it be to succumb, or grow in the hatred of the situation. Alas, that was not my fate. He honored my family's heritage and gave me a choice. To leave, or submit.

Oh what have I gotten myself into?

Temporary residence

To explain where I am at the moment requires filling in the basics. I am sitting within a rather large roomy wagon, dressed in a black tunic and contemplating removing soggy boots from my sore wrinkled feet. I am dirty still, with mud and blood caked under my nails, and ground into my hair. There is water, but I have saved it for drinking. When the chance comes, I will relish the bath. Even outside in the freezing air, if need be. My one ankle is wrapped in a manacle, attached to a chain long enough to let me move around quite a bit. That has confounded me somewhat, but my first reaction was to feel comforted by it, secure, safe. The Brave Warrior settled me in here, in this nice warm roomy place once we had gotten to his camp. In the dark, in the drowsy confusion of arriving and transferring to replace the saddle on his shoulder with my own limp body, I saw a multitude of wagons wrapped in the deep shadows of night. I thought it was so nice to not be so alone anymore. The chain might have been to keep me from running, and that was all right with me. I had no desire to run, but it told me that I was meant to stay right here. It would tell anyone else the same thing. After the day we had just had, I had just had, it was a glorious feeling to be so protected. In the dark, I had fumbled around and found a warm furry pelt to wrap around me, and that is all my tired brain would allow for a good many ahns.

In the light of day, I can see now that there is more than just the warm pelt. There are a good many supplies, a variety of pelts and skins, clothing and dishes and just about anything one could want to live comfortably. Most of it is dark, except for splashes of color here and there. Dishes, pots and pans, a quilt. Those few things spoke to me of a woman, so I was a little disappointed to not find a dress among the clothing. I had discarded the rumpled remains of my clothing and stuffed them in a bucket, only to find that there was little selection to replace it with. The tunics all seemed pretty much the same - black, ebony, coal, ink, so I finally just picked the most worn looking and held it up. It had a hint of scent still infused in the fibers, a clean freshness that came from drying outside in the light of the Central Fire, and tangled in the weave was the hint of maleness that is unmistakable to a woman. She can find the powdery sweetness of a baby's scent in a blanket as well, and I am inclined to believe it has something to do with our noses. I had donned the tunic and rearranged things within my space to be easier to reach when I needed, all with the intent of dirtying the wagon as little as possible. The bedding was shifted over to the side, well out of my way. The clothing, when I was done looking through it, was moved from my side to across the room. I was trying my best to be a polite house guest.

I finally had found my way to the opening of the wagon covering to take a look outside. The bright light was blinding momentarily, but once I adjusted I could not believe my eyes. This was no small camp at all. Stretching out as far as I could see were wagons upon wagons upon wagons. I couldn't even see all of them, as a good many were blotted out by those closest. It was as if the plains had suddenly burst into bloom, for each enclosure had it's own unique color. I could see people too! Now and again one would cross a path that split between wagons, or animals, or small pens. Sometimes it was only legs that I saw, other times it was a woman, or a man, or a child. There was a resemblance between them all, though each had distinct characteristics. It felt very alive, and I felt quite overwhelmed and even more thankful that I had a specific place to be. I must have looked like a wild woman on top of it, with matted tangled hair going all which way on my head, and barely anything covering me, except blood and mud and grass.

When I next moved my foot, I heard something beneath the platform. At the same time, two young boys scampered by, guiding a mud ball between them. The noise beneath the wagon became a snarling, growling, snapping beast on many legs that darted from below and took command of everything within sight, including me. I must have screeched, for the boys came closer, laughing hard and giving me the once over. One of them told me I better get back inside before I became sleen supper. I agreed whole heartedly and lunged into the safety of my little abode. Their laughter rang out among the other sounds of the camp, over and over. A quiet came, and I settled down to figure out what I was going to do with myself. The peace didn't last long though. They were back, laughing as hard as before, calling to me. I peeked through the slit of canvas, unable to be quiet with all that chain rattling along with me. My downstairs visitor let out a warning snarl as well, since I wasn't being very silent. The boys had brought friends...comrades...pointing at the wagon and chanting. I just had to...give them something to chant about, now didn't I? Already tousled hair was plucked out further from my head. I squeezed my soiled dress until I could paint my cheeks with streaks of mud, much like those scars the men wore, and I grabbed the empty chamber pot to take with me. When I burst through the flaps, banging on the pot and hopping from foot to foot, then swinging the contents of air toward they boys they scattered like ducks on a pond. It didn't last long, and I knew it wouldn't. In fact, I started laughing before I was even done, and they all returned one by one to laugh at me and with me as well. I finally asked one of them if he would get me a bucket of water and he said 'maybe'.

I told that ugly sleen from below that I thought that was about all I could hope for. Then I promised to stay out of his way. I am a great deal curious now. I wonder how my Brave Warrior is. I wonder whose wagon this is. I wonder what all these people are like. Are they all just friends waiting to be met? I wonder if I am captive? or..protected? or could it be...both?

The final leg

I didn't think twice before I started off after him. He knew the way and I didn't, and I was not about to take off on my own again. This was some one's land. Who's I didn't know, but I had heard enough about the wagon peoples to know they staked their claim and held firm. I suppose when you can not build fences and battlements to keep danger out, you must learn to protect everything at all times and at all costs. It was a very profound feeling I got at about that time. My possessions, at least some of them, were always in place, in my home, back on the ranch. I thought little of protecting them, or holding on to them. Not until I was forced to pick and choose which ones I would take when I had to leave the crippled wagon. Now, I do not even have those meager few treasures. How precious and important things like the ability to survive becomes. Shelter, food, water, breath, life, and those you share your struggle with. As wonderful as that dress given with such kindness by Goldie had meant to me, it meant just as much if not more to use it to such means to help another.

I recognized early on that all my Brave Warrior's insistent words had a purpose. To protect, both himself and me. I trusted him to save us. Though I kept watch on our backs, pausing now and again to turn around and examine the horizon. Light was quickly fading, being consumed by the hungry darkness that hovered over the plains. I couldn't shake the fear, or feeling, that at any point in time someone might appear, even the Paravaci again. Anxiety was pushing my feet forward, for my body was too tired to do so.

The Brave Warrior and I had not spoken since fixing his wounds. I was in a way, grateful. I was too tired to expend the breath to speak, and didn't want him to do so either. His pace was quick enough to keep me moving smartly, even having to pause and catch my breath now and again. There was a moment when nature called, and I thought to ask him to wait, but modesty bid me to just hurry up and get the deed done and over with. That was when I discovered that my dress barely covered my hoohaw in the front, and the back of the dress was a wet second skin to my buttocks. I had lost my modesty on the plains this day as well.

Walking through the whispering grass in the silence gave me time to think, to take a much needed pause in the day and let my whirlwind of thoughts settle to a mild hum. The crazy man did not look so wild and crazy from behind. He is tall and lean, with a long length of blue black hair that beckons to be stroked. His gait, though hampered by his injuries, is with purpose and swift. In all I have seen of him, he is self assured, comfortable in his skin, and wise. I had placed an immense amount of faith in him. That is partly my nature - to believe in the good until shown otherwise. It is partially what he had shown me as well.

I now allowed the thoughts of possession to drift to things I had heard today. I felt a bit of discomfort traipsing over the idea of being a prize, won or bartered. From the mouths of the Vaci it felt demeaning and despicable. I was acquainted with slaves. I was aware of the variety of connections between a man and a woman. I was not familiar with them, for I was still the "Ubar's cloistered daughter". I did not know, not for myself, what brought a woman to her knees, and another to a man's side. What motivated each, and what was sought from within. I did not know what my Brave Warrior considered me, and for the time being, I was more than content to believe he had simply rescued a lost woman on the plains.

It was not much longer before riders appeared in the near distance. Instinctively I closed the gap between us, the Warrior and I, until I was almost secreted by his body. I could almost feel his relief when he realized they were friends and not foe, and something drained out of me as well. I could feel happiness in the exchange between them all, and the immense pleasure that filled me back up left a giddy feeling. I was taking my cues from his body language, even without meaning to. I didn't even protest ...much...when tossed over a saddled kaiila. I was just so damned happy to be saved. I recall lifting my head and asking if my Warrior would be okay. The stinging slap on my ass to better seal me against the saddle's grip took me by surprise, but it was accompanied by laughter and I could only take that to mean...yes. Yes he would be okay. I let the exhaustion take over then.