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?