Sisterhood

"So how is the Sisterhood of the Unmeasured Leathers" doing today?" Dee had asked me this as we strolled toward the stream for a few buckets of water. She had named Red and I the Sisterhood the other day when I told her of some of the conversations Red and I were having. It was tender ground, for the details had been what started the argument between Dee and I. We tread more carefully this time, though I was a bit more receptive as well.

Red and I had lingered by the stream the one day, sharing a meal and some girl talk. Despite living together, we head off to our respective days and don't find that much time together. It is a necessary fact of the life we lead, that even the simplest of necessities takes much time to acquire, prepare, or do. Red told me a little about her sister, how they used to sit together beneath the stars with their legs entwined. It seemed like a good idea and I changed positions to sit next to her. Leg to leg, we talked about the coming stars and life. My skin warmed, tingled, feeling that brush of humanity to another. The sensitivity changing, reacting, the start of a story that would meander through poetic stanzas, starting with the flesh and speaking to the soul. The closeness had opened up the flow of conversation, though Red is not shy.

I asked about her black eye, though I still don't know how it came about. I admitted I can't fight, not really. Which means maybe I should be taking lessons. Red too, given as she seemed to get her butt kicked. I wouldn't mind returning the favor to who ever marked up the slave of Brave Warrior Fonce, though most seemed pretty pleased with Red's efforts.

The same Mistress that Red offered up for our sparring lessons had given Red a few tasks. Cleaning wagons and clothing for a few Masters would be keep Red occupied during the day and she seemed nervous but excited at the same time. Then she told me of another task she was given, to make a new pair of leathers for a Master. It seemed easy enough to do, until she mentioned that she had never made leathers before. She also added, she had to measure the Master without letting him know. I could feel the heat work its way through my system just imagining that. Yama would have called it spring blood - her words for how young men and women acted when all that attraction and interest was getting so overwhelming and overpowering. Of course, the boys/men had other outlets. Namely slaves.

Like...me.

I offered to help her, though she just included me in the measuring task with a hands on approach. I told Dee I had just been offering to help make the leathers. That was the start of..everything that went down hill between Dee and I. Next, I added on my response to asking about Red's collar. I wanted to know what it felt like. Secretly, in the dark of the wagon, or while I was alone at some task, I had tried looping my blessings amulet in such a way to test the feel of it. I could fantasize about all manner of feelings and thoughts associated with it, but still, I wanted to hear what Red thought. She was, after all, much in the same place as I was. Then Red asked me why I didn't have a collar. I answered her with that same thread of thought I have been carrying since I came here. Brave Warrior Master Fonce has spread out choices from far and wide before me. I told Red, I didn't think He knew if I wanted to be His.

Red wanted to know why I wasn't free, and I was instantly reminded of her pleas when she was chained, wishing me free and having fat Tuchuk babies so that I might free her from the chain. Now that was easy enough to explain - the choices I had been offered, had been freedom with the caravan, or slavery to Him. I made my choice with hope filled heart, and it wouldn't be right to no longer accept His terms.

Then Red asked to be there when I begged for His collar. She said she wanted to see something happy, and went on to explain that her best friend submitted to her brother, and another to her father, and it was with love that they did so. Now, we were starting to talk about something I could understand, though Red has said before she wanted nothing to do with love.

If being smitten feels like the world is spinning upside down and has turned everything a brighter color, then love has got to be a hundred times better. I know love is a hundred times better.

Time

Dee and I argued. A big argument. It was one of those kinds of arguments where you keep on going and everything seems fair game and the slinging words really hurt and you both walk away looking at your hands and wondering what happened. You walk away, because there is nothing else left to do. You walk, and in my case, I ran, and you keep going until you can't go any further. I stayed there, nursing my pride and missing Dee like everything I had ever thought good and wonderful. I knew there were truths in what she said, even if I wasn't wanting to hear it. I suppose there were truths in what I said, though that seemed a lot less important when I was sitting alone.

I don't argue well. Unless it is something I am emotionally distanced from, and then I most often see both sides of an equation with equal energy. I probably should learn to not try, or learn to do so better, but that thought never occurs until after the fact. I didn't want to win, I just wanted to be understood. Those words of Master Fonce's came back to hit me in the face with such a blast that it took my breath away. I think, that is all Dee wanted too.

Standing at the edges of the places where we always met at, we worked in silence like we often did. The only difference was what was going on inside. Ahns stretch endlessly during times like that. How different time feels when we are happy. I never realized how time was anything but static. In the end, when fingertips met and hearts spoke, nothing else seemed important. I wanted her to know that a day without her just isn't quite the same. I wanted her to know that I value her thoughts, her ideas, her opinions. I think they make a nice compliment to mine. I wanted to hear them, just not in the heat of passion. Most of all, I wanted my friend.

Time was playing games with me.

Thinking like a free woman

I have been inspired to notice things that I hadn't paid that much attention to before. Things like brands, and collars, and the lives of other slaves. They were of course, always there, but my little cocoon of protective ignorance hadn't brought them to the forefront of my attention. Red and I didn't get to discuss much the other night, but we would eventually. In the mean time I studied Dee's collar, which seemed to be the standard fare among the slaves. A ring of steel, that was not so tight against the throat, laying just against the inner ring of collarbone. Nya's was thicker, higher, tighter against the column of her neck, and forced her to keep her chin up a bit higher. That was not the reason people thought her a bitch though. I saw strips of leather, knotted fiber, and even a scratchy uncomfortable looking length of rope tied around one girl's neck. I had no idea there were so many kinds. Some of the slaves wore nothing at all. The types and styles seemed as varied as there were people living in the Tuchuk, and I came to realize that this was just one tiny aspect of reflection upon a relationship.

The brands, though not as varied and not as easily spotted, were also unique enough to be almost a personal arrangement for a woman. Between her collar, her brand, and her life, each woman had a unique setting that was her own. Dee and I were discussing this over some grass picking near the stream. I recalled her telling me that it was possible to be required to move while keeping my bells..silent. Some men took great delight in creating such tasks, while others sought nothing more than clean socks. The spectrum in between was so vast and multifaceted, including the changing whim of Owners and expressions of the women they possessed, why the possibilities were mind boggling. Possessed. When Dee used that word it sent a little charge through my system, lingering on my tongue and echoing in my mind. I still saw myself in my own terms, simply as me. My status seemed to be more a reflection of how others saw me, minus a bit of clothing, and minus the embarrassment such a situation might otherwise hold.

The next day Dee told me I thought too much like a free woman. She said this in the middle of my exuberant prattling about the chance meeting with Master and the ensuing hug. He had shaken me off His arm, and that made me smile inside. He was working so hard, concentrating on something so deeply. His entire being was carefully maneuvering through a conversation with the Art Mistress, almost like a boy tracking a grasshopper through the tall jungle of blades, perfecting His next movement. I settled down nearby to wash the paint that clung to the sackcloth shift, and was just in the final stages of rinsing when Red arrived. She told me that the slaves up north wouldn't be over here...when He ..was over there. I didn't have a good answer for that. He did, though, and it kind of set my thinking on a little detour. I just wouldn't have titled it thinking like a free woman.

Little Things

Red has a shiner, and it's going to be a doozy. She has a shiner, and her shift is cut and dyed and wraps around her in decadent folds. And she wears a collar. I wanted to see everything, examine it all, see it close up, hear all the stories behind everything. I had returned to the wagons and started dinner, sausages of bosk and tabuk all ground up together, spiced lightly, sealed within their own skin containers and roasted to bursting delight. I had taken off the sackcloth dress, warmed with my body heat , working it up over the expansion of ribs and stretch of my arms with a taste of what was to come. The air danced over my skin, sending radiating streams of touch to every extremity. I could taste the difference between cool air and warm. The fire, burned so hot. The ground, cool and damp, was drawn to the flames caress. I could recall in vivid detail every pattern water painted upon me, and I could feel the inspiration of want low in my belly, quivering between my thighs. It was uncanny to me how everything could be stroked to such clarity after all this time. The mere scent of Him in His main wagon brought shivers to play havoc with my steps and the dreamy quality of my happiness, fusing wants, needs and desires into one face. I didn't not sleep well that night.

The third day at Mistress Asria's wagon, I came for the laundry basket I was pretty sure waited near the opening to the wagon. I had expected soiled tunics, maybe a leather skirt or two, and little yellow and pink dresses for Lei. While those were in attendance...I certainly wasn't expected those little booties that looked like they could only fit feet of a small verr, maybe a vulo, or teeny tiny person. I of course had my ideas, gossipy kinds of ideas, and I had tried to figure out just how long I had been here with my Brave Warrior. My bracelet of counting beads, the one I used to keep track of time between my natural cycles, had gotten broken during all the frightening escape from those dreaded Paravaci, and was now useless. How long had it been?

I looked down into the blue green ripples that carried away the little bubbles of soap from my hands as I squeezed. The sky was brilliant and sharp in reflection off the stream and behind me, fresh laundry spread out to soak of the drying breath of the Central Fire. Tiny little arms stretched out beckoning from little tunics and skirts danced against the floor of grass. Life spread out before me, telling stories, in the simple task of laundry. I realized with a start that one of the small little coverings for a foot had slipped free of my fingers, taken without a care by the circling and swirling rush of water. The bootie bobbed and dunked, springing back up for a breath of visibility, then hid below the surface for a game of hide and seek. I jumped up to grab it, leaning over the edge where my fingers just touched one side before the stream laughed and took it further away. Our game continued like this, me following along on the edges, slipping in the muddy rise of bank, and the stream coaxing me with the taunt of the bootie. Closer, then sweeping it out into the deeper waters, only to bring it rocking and chuckling back toward the bank.

Panicking, afraid to lose one of the Mistress' tiny creations, to leave a matched set without a companion, and to disappoint her, to disappoint....Him...I followed that bootie, never ever letting it leave my sight. The stream sighed, growing tired of the game, and swept the prize it had won out into its center, chiding me for thinking I could best it. I stood there, on the side, lost and miserable, begging the waters to bring it back to me. We stood there...the stream and I...at an impasse. The captured prize still floating, catching the light on a turned toe, a folded hem. So I took matters into my own hands ... taking that leap..and jumping in.

Paint

The second day of Red's release from the chains started out much like the first. We melted into the plains like an entire caravan merchant's stall of flowers - or more aptly put - women. There were times I seriously wondered if we could possibly use all this fuel that was being collected, in a lifetime. Sacks and bags were being carted back toward the wagons, and this happened just about every day. Logically, we couldn't collect dry dung in pouring rain, and one of those sacks barely got the larger fires roaring, but when you are the arms and shoulders and back dragging it, you start to think differently. I know without a doubt that if I ever have a favor owed to me, I am going to call in the dung collecting marker, and that will be the first thing I offer if I ever owe someone.

Red had stayed pretty close to Dee and I the first day, and we made a matched set of sounds moving back and forth through the trampled fields. Dee thought we sounded like wind chimes rocking back and forth in the breeze, and thought we could find a belt or necklace of bells, maybe even bracelets, to bring a little song to the chores. About mid way through the morning, the thunder and rumble of kaiila claws kicking up dirt brought us all to stop and look. Riders are always coming through the fields, and each and every time we all stop and look. You can hear the calls back and forth, between men and women, slaves and Masters. The men here are daunting, dangerous, frightening and yet I am acutely aware of how thrilling that is. Still, none sets my heart afire like the Brave Warrior. Just thinking of Him sets my heart into crazy rhythm and I smile and loose track of time. This time it was Dee's Master that threaded through the bent grass and legs and beauty. He found her, and she found Him at just about the same time and I just thought that was really wonderful. Red was busy off down the slope, and making a few new friends when I heard him call my name. Run for us, Catch. Run..to where the bosk graze. Oh yes Master!

There are no words to describe how I feel when I run. The air is an elixir that clears my head and whispers 'faster,further' against the shells of my ears. My hair grows wings and arms and hands in the wind, lashing me with urgency and accolades against my back. I used to run toward a spot on the horizon, but on that day, that moment, when I ran toward my Master..it has become the visual of both symbolic and real goal. It is a pleasant idea, and seems ever present in the sketchy canvas of my oft spoken of dreams. When I finally turned, coming back toward the fields where the dung lay waiting, Dee's Master met me halfway. It was His idea that I run every day, practicing lithe moves from side to side, forward and back, speed as well as deft movement. An easy task to comply with, I found myself eagerly saying yes and thank you. I couldn't wait to tell Dee and Red and most of all Master. After chores that is.

I had several tasks in mind, courtesy of the Mistress Asria herself. Arrival at the wagon had found it empty and I circled it several times looking for the mess that was awaiting me. Some mention had been made of paint, and I figured that wagon painting was going on. After all, Master had just done a refurbishing job on His wagons, so it made sense. And several others were being decorated, compliments of the Artisan. Perhaps Asria was one that liked to do so herself. I found paint, but it appeared to be everywhere but on the wagon canvas. Speckles dotted the grass and dirt nearby, marched up the wooden steps and even drizzled here and there like tassels and fringe. A few lids teetered near the edge of the platform, brushes and crumpled up thin pieces of leather, a stone or two and a few old cloths. I... had my work cut out for me.

I had slipped the shift left by Master Pei at Master Fonce's direction over my head. The touch of the fabric was soft, so worn over time that it had lost it's itch and scratch. It was an almost violent contrast to the feeling of being ...naked. I felt a breath fill my lungs and that brought the drag of cloth tenderly over my nipples. I was reminded of the teasing weight of hair over my shoulder, the lapping water at my thighs now mimicked by the hem of cloth, the slightest weight of fabric neckline much like the brief taste of lips and tongue. A sensual playground that left me speechless, I almost feared that my nakedness would have a newer depth to it. Every movement was written on my senses in dual tones - one with the thin sheath that acted as further excitement to my flesh, and another with the fantasy spilling through my mind of the raw exposure that would be without the cloth barrier. Try as hard as I could to focus solely on the work on the platform, I was thinking of so much more.

Several ahns of scrubbing later, the platform bore not one speckle, dot or smear of paint. The wood, however, was in need of...something. Varnish, oil, a more serious coat of paint? I wasn't sure, but intended to find out. Any jars missing lids were mated with their appropriate counterpart and the miscellaneous doo dads were put together in a small basket with a hole in the bottom. The platform was swept with the broom I had just repaired, giving new meaning to sweeping the floor with my heart and soul. One final gesture was left for the Mistress and Little girl...a piece of paper I used to smudge fingertips over, leaving them a rainbow of sorts captured in clouds.

Hurry!

Hurry! Hurry! Dee was standing outside in the midst of the wagons calling for me, and rather impatiently at that. I had to chuckle, for we both had the same feeling about dung chucking - hurry up and get it over with, the sooner the better. Dee's anxiousness was due in part to the odd character of the sky. In the distance, churning muddy clouds races through the blue, blotting it out completely at times. Above us, as if the Sky itself was shining down in favor, hardly a wisp of white marred the pale atmosphere. That could change so easily, in little more than a few heartbeats. I told her to slow down, even though I didn't want to pick dung while it was raining either. "I have to get Red," I told her. I had made a quick breakfast and woken Red already, giving her a little bit of time to herself to get moving. Things happen rather suddenly around here it seems, and a person's life doesn't have much time to adjust. You simply just...are. Red was officially..ready for dung. I know how it feels to be out there in the massive stretch of fields hunting for things you can not see, but seem to manage to step on more than you would like. That seems to go for the slaves that dot the landscape as much as the dung. Everyone seems to mark out their favorite spots and woe to any interlopers. Of course, as human nature would have it, there are always interlopers. It was obvious that Red was no stranger to dung, which made that part of it easier. I don't think she is used to some of the labor, even if she did think southern women soft. Even my life on the ranch did not prepare me for the harsh realities of trying to eke out an existance on the plains. You have little but your wits and hands as tools. Everything else is born of those things.

Red's temperament has improved, which I am glad of. I wasn't sure how it would be to live in close quarters with someone I couldn't abide. Dee told me it happens, and I suddenly wondered what it might have been like to have a sister. One of my blood. Would we have fought and bickered? Would we have been the best of friends? It probably would have been a little bit of both, if I go by what I have seen and been told. Would that have made me stronger in my convictions and ideas? Already I found that answering the probing questions of others forced me to gather my heart and thoughts into one. I wasn't opposed to it, but found it helpful most of the time. Sometimes, it had the effect of making my mind twist in on itself, but I was used to that.

We took Red to the stream next, after dropping off all the fruits of our labor in the morning. It is not the warm consolation of scented bubbles and heated water when you bathe in the stream. It is life giving arousal that nips and bites at your flesh and reminds you that you must grasp and take living seriously. Nothing quite compares to shedding the scents of labor, even if it is by the shock of cold water. Nothing quite compares to the welcome heat of Lar Torvis after either, chasing goosebumps into oblivion. I had my own little secret pleasure from the water too, that had nothing to do with learning to appreciate the simplest things in life. Or maybe it did.

Red was given the afternoon to acquaint herself with the home she now shared with our growing little family, tucked inside the larger more varied family. I had already spotted her with a few other slaves, and was pretty sure she didn't need my hand to hold, as she had proved that already. I had things to take care of for the Mistress Asria, and while I would have enjoyed the company, I wasn't eager to have her taunting Free Women again. Especially not friends of the Brave Warrior. The lines of my dreams were getting a little more color filled in on the edges, a little more definition, but I had yet to discover what the image was becoming. Dee raced off to her own duties, leaving me with a promise to meet again in the morning.

Humility

So let's humble ourselves by wearing sackcloth (1 Kings 20:31)

It was Dee that was on my mind as I finally made my way back toward Master's wagons. Trotting, dust and dirt were kicked up behind me, the jangle of bells was an almost insistent hum, and more than one comment had reached my ears about the visual display of a running naked slave. So much sloughs off me, much like the kicked away debris, when there is something on my mind. I heard the remarks, but didn't really, at least not enough to find that they invaded the conundrum consuming my thoughts. I looked up just in time to see a mustard brown kaiila parked in the space between the wagons up ahead. Master's wagons were still a good 100 paces away, so my stride had not slowed very much, and the obstruction would necessitate a skid in sloppy slick grass to avoid a collision.

Pei leaned to the side and looked down at me, growing a half smile right before my eyes.

"Are you still running?" he asked.

"I'm always running, I love to run." I replied with honesty.

"Then how do you expect Fonce to catch you?" was his next inquiry.

I stepped side to side, foot to foot, while brushing back strands of hair that became intimate with my cheeks and forehead, tossing around all manner of answers that came to mind for that question. Everything started to sound empty and without much heart to it, until I finally settled on stating "I am always running -to- Him". Pei laughed lightly, which brought the blush hot on my cheeks. I recalled the first time we met, when I was drawing a map on my skin, and I felt like I might as well be doing the same now.

A slight nod of his head changed the subject, though I felt it would be a source of conversational topic some time again. He told me that he had been tending some matters for Fonce, and all that heat on my cheeks melted together and lit up my eyes, probably much like sparkling sticks at celebrations. I felt like I sprouted wings, delicate gossamer appendages, hardly visible, that lifted my heart in fluttering animation, suspending me in an alert and straighter position. Pei shook his head and chuckled and then continued, letting me know that Red was now in the slave wagon with me; collared, belled and dressed. Food and water were still my duty, and a lovely garment awaited me also. So many things struck me at once I had trouble keeping up with the information, so I latched on to the last I heard. "A garment for me?"

While my mind developed an instant curiosity for all the things playing out behind the scenes, Pei explained that it was a simple shift of sackcloth, meant for use when I served the Free Woman. He winked at me, adding..."you know how delicate their sensibilities can be." We shared a bit of laughter and I thanked him for the message, getting that heated blush all over again when he left me with the reminder that he didn't expect to see me in the sackcloth.

I hardly had time to even look for the garment once I did make it to the wagons of a thousand dreams and images, for it was long past supper time. I knew I was hungry, and I was quite sure Red was as well. A simple stew was quickly set to warm over the banked up coals in the center of the wagons. A project of sorts that I had been working on was calling my name, but even that would have to wait while I repaired a stiff bristled broom for Asria's wagons. That reminded me of the brush I told Red we would try to make, and that reminded me of brushing hair, and making sure Master's wagon was still warm and welcoming for the evening. By the time I had finished the little things that kept cropping up, evening was kissing the ruby red lips of day goodnight and I hurried to the stream to fill up a few botas for Master's evening.

The weather has warmed considerably, but not enough to fully dispel the chill that clings to the air around the stream once the Central Fire has moved on to other worlds. Most often I meet a few slaves by the stream at night; occasionally a few others are gathered here and there, but it has been rare. This evening, voices bled into the song of light breeze as I neared the rushing water, and I gave a quick exchange of smile without expecting any familiarity. Instantly I knew, even though instinct had already bid me to pay attention. In the cool slivers of moonlight that were just touching down, He resembled a statue of great importance. Resilient, stoic, cut from vibrant cloth, reds and dark shadows smudged around Him. The Artisan was there also, wrapped in a cocoon of movement, and I approached Him with that burst of smile just as she left. I could feel it even as I neared, and the hug confirmed the tension that seemed to seep from Him.

He was not pleased, and once more I have stumbled into a place where His emotions are awash and alive within Him. If it is Him that I seek to learn, I seem to manage it best so far by barging head first into Him. His directions were clear - I was not to be out after dark. I agreed readily, without hesitation, for I trusted His wishes. I felt much as I returned to the wagon, without the fresh cool of water. I felt security and protection, but a fantasy played out in my mind as well. A hazy vision of comfort that He might find in times such as these, and not a further worry.

“… You changed my mourning into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and turned it into joy…” (Psalm 30)

Branding Day

I had gone to Asria's wagon after completing my own personal chores, feeling pretty excited about it all. Perhaps my methods of communication were working, through little notes and spread by word of mouth. I gathered that He felt confident enough in me to allow me close to those He called friend, or family, or at least cared for. I appreciated Asria's willingness to have my help as well. Perhaps, He was still evident on my skin, in little swirls of effect. I felt it, as profoundly as that day at the stream. It had changed a bit, becoming a smokier essence that thrummed through my veins hotly, taunting me with the promise of things yet undiscovered. I was getting used to it. It was becoming an alive feeling for me, though there is no doubt that I welcomed further exploration.

Asria's water barrels were almost bone dry. That surprised me, for it seemed like water was everywhere in the camp. I realized though, that with all they had been going through of late with the little girl's illness, the more mundane tasks were easy to push back in an overloaded mind. It was here that I started, making the trips between wagons and stream, hauling water. My arms were aching as I prepared for the last trip, the one that would top of the very last barrel, when riders parted the stalks of grass and bid me start hauling water elsewhere.... to the fields and herds for all those busy with branding.

Branding. I recall branding time on the ranch. I remember very vividly when I was quite young, feeling a child's heartbreak at what I was certain was cruelty and pain. I swore I could feel the young crying in misery, the calves frantic in fear to get away from the traumatic scent of burning flesh. No amount of persuasion could get me to see the benefits. I had protested visiting the herds when branding was going on for several years. Long enough to grow knobby knees, arms that seemed too long and a misshapen chest. That is when Becky got lost in a sudden storm. Becky had been our favorite cow, her disposition unmatched by any other, her cream and milk the sweetest. If any animal treated us like family, it was Becky, and her rich golden green eyes were unlike any others. When she disappeared, the men made countless trips in search of her, for it was as if one of our own was lost. We had almost given up hope, almost consigned her fate to a meeting with a wild sleen or larl, or even ruthless outlaws. And then one day Vega called me over to the fence and there stood Becky. Another man, a stranger, road a great black beast and at Vega's urging explained that he had found Becky wandering one day. It wasn't hard to figure out where she belonged, because everyone around knew that brand of our ranch. While the men continued to keep speaking of things like quality stock and details that didn't concern a young girl, I led Becky back to her stall. I understood it a little better now, that a little bit of pain in the beginning held the secret of so many benefits. That mark on Becky's hide was both pride and protection, and I know I was grateful she wore it. I believe Becky was pretty happy to have had it too. I had explained my understanding to Vega when he returned, and even went so far as to liken it to life. After all, it is that which we suffer through the most that we cherish the end result of all the more. Vega then offered to make me my own brand, and that was the birth of my open ended heart. A design that to this day is special to me, and a good many livestock bear. Here..it is on botas and wagon canvases, shaded in spice on scraps of paper and some day will be etched into a bead. And I am as proud and protective of all those things as I have ever been.

When I brought the buckets of water to the herds, helping to fill botas and cups as quickly as possible, I tried to see all the brands that were being used. I wanted to see if they were names, or symbols, beliefs or convictions, mere markings or artistically crafted designs. Every one was dusty and sweaty, chasing after scrambling bosk calves, cursing over the missed grip of a hot iron, shouting encouragement to one another. One of the men caught me leaning over the fire looking at the irons and slapped my ass before asking if I was trying to pick out a nice one for my thigh. 'What? They brand women...too?' I must have looked as scared and shocked as I felt, for he was laughing at me now, asking didn't I know that slaves were branded. Well of course I knew, kind of, I just didn't really think about it that much. My palm was rubbing a spot on my thigh while he continued, saying that it would happen only if I was extra good and then they might even put a ring in my nose too. Then I would be almost...almost..as useful as bosk. But bosk were everything and sacred, he reminded me.

'Holy shit!'

Atmosphere

Slipping into the wagon, bathed in amber, hints of soap and spice, leather and tapestry, wood and fire, the faint trace of food layered with the clean fresh scent of the wonderful world outdoors was such a gift. Time spent between my evening rituals last night and today had been jam packed with things and activity and I was deliciously tired. I do not know if these things mean the same to a man as they do to a woman, but atmosphere plays such an important part in my state of being. Tonight the wagon felt so inviting. The colors swirled with the warmth of light, giving me such a peaceful feeling. It was a joy to tuck the blanket around Red a bit more securely, to run my fingers through the woven blankets, the deep pile of the furs, to create that soft lump of pillow in preparation for another occupant.

I drifted back expecting to fall instantly asleep but I found myself laying there instead. It was with a sudden upright jerk of body that I realized I had not said good night to Sister moons and all the stars. I couldn't remember the last time I had let a night go by, willingly, without my evening conversation. It was to them that I told all my confessions of childhood. To them I told my dreams and hopes, my sorrows and even my plans for the next day. I regaled them with stories of my adventures, and thanked them profusely for yet another day's blessing. I have believed at times that I can reach across time and space to touch the spirit of others. Most often it is Yama that I feel, but since the advent of my journey, other voices have colored the stars above. Yama said it would only happen when we both were gazing into the night sky at the same star at the same time. The odds are stacked against such a happening, but that hasn't stopped me from trying.

I told the night about my cooking adventures, for I was branching out and making more than just the basics. The Mistress had told me the Brave Warrior didn't like much spice, and I made certain the dishes were made that way. I did add a little of my own concoction, though I had yet to find one thing that Yama always taught me was important in a healthy diet. I held out hope that I would find it eventually, either in some part of yet unexplored land, or maybe it would be part of the booty of a raid. I was beginning to like the results of some of these raids, without thinking too hard on what all else it entailed. Master didn't eat at the small fires that held His wagons together like the hub of a wheel. I had seen Him eating at the larger central fires, and I am not sure if that was simply His preference or He had just grown used to not having a hot meal awaiting Him during His bachelor days. Maybe with Red and I both here, He would think about the possibility of a meal at His own fires upon occasion.

During all the goings on the previous night with the free women, Asria had told me that Master had approved my giving her a hand over at her wagons. This surprised me in a pleasant way. I enjoy being useful, and have helped out whenever and where ever possible. I had understood this irritation in Red too, stuck in one place with nothing to occupy you. I could only clean an already clean wagon so many times before the pointlessness began to be apparent. With that in mind I had brought Red a basket of leather to stitch up, much like Dee had brought me. Like the theory of giving a smile to another, and they in turn give it on, and on - I had begun doing with Red what Dee had done with me. Perhaps this tale had a start in the very beginnings and will continue until the last Tuchuk breathes. I had an eagerness to see what Red would do with it all, and I was delighted to see leather sacks hanging from everywhere around Master's wagon, curing and drying. It looked like someone had hung fringe or light globes on the ribs of His wagon, and that gave me a little idea for the future.

Beyond Obedience

Dee and I were sitting down by the stream, wiggling our toes in the crispy cool water. There is a spot where a flat rock juts out over the gurgling water. It is high enough that the water only splashes on the underside, where it is dark and musty and covered with green. My legs are a bit shorter than Dee's and I have to point them a little to touch the water, while Dee just sits and kicks her legs back and forth making a hundred ripples radiate into the broken surface. Around us, everything had burst into spring. We had been awaiting it, watching and listening, hearing the call of birds throughout the days and late evenings, catching the first small blooms of color that promised more, watching the bosk graze on grass that no longer held the jacket of pale winter.

I was quiet today, mesmerized by the sky's cracked and distorted reflection in the waves that disturbed the water's surface, aimlessly flicking one of the golden bells at my ankle. Dee had been speaking to me, and finally found something that would break through the haze of my thoughts and bring a smile. "Are you trying to figure out what is past obedience?" Dee had to repeat it, just so I could be sure. I explained that it is not a what, not something I thought I could even come up with. It is simply that I saw the existence in the breath in His eyes after He gave the basics. A dream, one of His dreams, that still thrives, even if it is held with no hope of realization. I wasn't sure if it could be learned, or just given the wings of capability. I felt it was beyond my understanding, but I knew it made me giddy to taste it. I told her perhaps it was part of that unknown that I had come to hunger for.

But that was not what was on my mind. I was trying to understand people. I was trying to understand...Red. I had grown frustrated because she couldn't see anything but the chain. I wondered if it was her strength and pride as a previous free woman that clouded her vision, refusing to allow her to see how generous the Brave Warrior was. He had welcomed her into the warmth of His home, not chained her in discomfort below the wagon, or even in the cavernous emptiness of the slave wagon, or...worse. He made sure she was fed...through me..and even shared His milk with her in an attempt at calming her fears. Was it that independent woman that demanded her meals on her schedule and not mine, that thought she could get her way by challenging others, even the friends of the one giving her a chance at life? Would she have chosen death over such an existence? I had looked at Dee at this point and said that I was not cut out to be a free woman. Even Master's friends who came to His home, didn't they take into account that the very reason neither Red nor I were allowed at the main fire was that we didn't yet know how to be around people - His people. I nodded at Dee at this point and added..I understood now why He sent me away. She offered that maybe that is why the Mistresses left Red alive, for surely the plains were rich with the nutrients of slaves who didn't make it. She also reminded me that I was smitten, and that made me smile and blush, readily agreeing.

Then she told me something else. Dee had brought me food at the command of her Master. Dee thrived in the joy of carrying out His wishes, and I knew this. Both her Master, and she, had a warm regard and respect for my Master, which made the task all the more pleasant in her eyes. That was not why she had taken food out to Master Fonce for me that day though. She had not been commanded to, nor did so out of some kind thought for Master Fonce. She did so - because of me. She liked my gesture and wanted to further it along. Her Master had been very pleased, so pleased he explained that sometimes the heart of a person is seen in how they treat others. This..was important to her Master. This..was that something beyond obedience for him. I took Dee's hands in mine and squeezed with a delighted smile. YES!

Red is not Pink

I had a chance to get the know the woman called Red over the past few days. Red is not Pink, the slave I was told already belonged to Master, like I originally thought. I sometimes wonder if Master has a whole other set of wagons, maybe at the other end of this great wagon city, where He keeps His family and...Pink. There had been this man that traveled with the Caravan for a few days. Everyone said he had two companions, and children with each of them. Each family was in a different city. Some said, maybe he had more families in other cities. I always wondered, how does a man keep all that straight?

Red is a woman from the north who seemed to get caught out there on the plains pretty much like I did. She is young, pretty, has more freckles than I have ever seen on a person, and haughty. She acts like a free woman from somewhere. On the ranch, Yama was simply entitled to every one's respect. Every man, woman and child knew it and acted like it. Red must have had to remind people she deserved it. I think part of it is simply fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the moment, fear of what she is feeling. These are all things I can understand, having been right in that place not so long ago. I -still- am uncertain and wading my way through this new life of mine, so another wading through it with me is pretty welcome.

We have talked a bit through the past days. Red is anxious to be unchained, and at first I thought she would do something foolish, like try to run. She had offered to exchange places with me, and I have to admit, there was something very dark and compelling about that. A feeling inside that made me squirm and have to take a long deep breath. She also asks a lot of questions, has a lot of expectations and, I think, has listened to one too many dramatic stories. She reminds me of my one Aunt. Bright, funny, cheerful and often the life of the party, she is a woman who says the boldest most bizarre things out loud and to your face. While you are stunned a bit, trying to swim out of the idea that she just said this, you tend to start saying all sorts of things back. Things you might not have let out into the open before. Which is her whole point and purpose. Aunt loved gossip and to be in the know, and her methods often earned her everything she sought. Until people got wise and just ignored her.

I cooked up my favorite meal the one night. Buttery basted vulo, stuffing tucked under the skin right over the breast, keeping everything so juicy it would run down your chin. I had gotten the vulo from a woman about a 20 ehn walk away. She had hundreds of the birds kept in a makeshift pen, and people seemed to favor her fresh eggs with the large yolks. She had told me that my Master used to have His own small pen of the creatures and offered a few to get things started again. In the mean time, I could come get eggs any time I wished if I would just fill her water barrels every day. The first day I did so, I stayed to help her boil up dozens of eggs. They had been a treat back home on the ranch and I was eager to pack a few into Master's pouches for snacks and something to eat during the day. The vulo Lady, as I started thinking of her, for her face was weathered and sunk in below the cheeks, her eyes tiny dark dots in folds of laughter wrinkled skin that perched above a slim hooked nose, had thrown in some grasses and herbs into the water. When we took out the eggs, the shells had taken on pretty swirled colors. Each batch was made with something different and the eggs came out in pale caramel, tender sky blue, even a light sweet pink. I didn't know if she would part with the actual vulos for a meal, but she was more than agreeable. The price was all the feathers and bones from the fowl in return. I took three of them.

Red seemed to truly enjoy the meal and I was pleased. Of course, by this point in time, Red was probably starving. I helped her get cleaned up a bit and promised to bring her something to work on while she sat. The days seem very long when you don't have much to do, and I at least got to see the passing landscape at times. I left her to go fill botas with water at the stream, but I also had a date with Dee.

Seeing Red

I did not find Dee, at least not that evening. Instead I saw Red. I had went about my usual routine with a swirling mind. Thoughts were playing havoc with reasoning and clear thinking, but doing the things I knew how to do served me well. All was in order when the silver moonlight painted everything muted tones and I finally sat down for a heart to heart discussion with the stars.

He arrived with a casual stride, taking the steps in the dark without a hitch, narrowly missing me curled up in the shadows. My mind was singing 'He is here He is here' and my feet were dancing along with the tune until I was in His arms and that smile was blessing me from one end to the other. He sent me for milk, and that is ...milk fresh from the bosk cow herself. Roguish men of his sort usually are ready for paga at this point in the evening, in my experience, but that just proves a little point I have held in my head all this time. He is not your usual Man. He is not a man to find relaxation an easy part of his day. He is not a man who tends his duties and then shuts them out when he perceives it to be "his time". No, He lives His responsibilities, His passions, every moment of His life.

When I turned to go after the milk, I saw a pretty redhead standing in the doorway. Ah..His other slave...finally. I have often wondered if He had a whole other set of wagons where they stayed. I had heard of a man when I was with the caravan that had two entire families, each in a different city. Did Brave Warrior Fonce have wagons at the end of the line, complete with a slave or two as well?

Over the next few days I would come to learn more of slave Red. This evening, I was granted a pressing wish to learn more of Master Fonce. He has a delectable humor that shines in His eyes. He is not afraid to be compassionate and caring, and while I am without any misconceived notions that He is not capable of violence and savagery - He is wise enough to use other means to get His ends. He shared with Red and I a little summary of His people, and the pride rises in His chest and is written gloriously on His features. A woman interested in His heart would do well to develop the love of land and sky and bosk as He does. To see the value of people in His eyes. Both Red and I had interest in the ragged marks that served as story scars on His cheeks. He has many of them, in several colors, and each was explained to us. I did not ask that night, but I plan to in the future, for I want to know the stories behind each one. For the first time since I have met Him, I asked before touching. I am not sure why I did so, but in the moment I felt like it was a treasure, and I didn't want to blemish the shine.

The one that impacted me the most was that of courage. The scar of red. To me He embodies courage, redefines it repeatedly and offers encouragement to others in just that way. It takes courage to live. It takes courage to love. It takes courage to stand tall and proud, to believe in yourself, to believe in another so much that You would give over your heart and soul...and even your very dreams.

Taking Steps, Taking Risks

It had started off innocently enough, though in retrospect I can not honestly say anything I do in regards to Brave Warrior Fonce can be considered innocent anymore. He has become an unquenched fire in my soul, and - for a Man I don't know much about - a hunger to learn as much as I can about this very Man. To the point I even braved displeasure for my own self satisfaction. And I fear I would do it again...and again. I am drawn to Him, to the magnet of His soul with the metallic bits of my own. What ever it takes, I want to be there. So when I spotted Him relaxing near the Main Fire, everything I was in the process of doing became..."run to Him". Isn't that how all this started in the first place?

I hope it never fades away.

In my quest to find 'something special' to give to the Man who had been granted so many Honors, I had been wandering through the wagons rather aimlessly. I believe in fate, and I am coming to realize that it is a very strong thread of belief in my life. I believed that if I was open enough and observant enough, something would present itself to me in abundance, and I would know - this is it!

I had met, and spoken to, quite a few people in my journey. If nothing else, I had made more acquaintences in this quest than I had in the many hands I had lived here. If only a byproduct of the end result, or if this turned out to be the sole treasure, I could not complain. There is a veritable patchwork quilt of people out there, with interesting stories, delightful bits of wisdom, humorous mannerisms and an unending list of inspiration. If I lived in the comfort of a warm family rich with history, twisted together with a fresh supply of new stories and experiences on the ranch, this was that multiplied a hundred times over. A thousand times.

I had circled back, for I still wasn't comfortable wandering too far, when I crossed the fire licking shadows of the Main Fire. Today He did not look like all energy and sparks, like the fire He favors, but more like the green of the plains. He is still vibrant and raw, dangerous and much like that naughty thing that is so irresistable, but today I saw the calm serious green. The hug to His arm was like a filling meal to my soul. If I could only return such a favor.

When He looks upon me I melt into molten liquid, and effuse into the air like steam above the fire. My anwer was to His question of why I was there sounded pale even to my own ears. " I need Your training, Master" (I just want to be with You, learn You, spend a few moments with You). So too was the answer to the fact I was risking disobedience, which is pretty telling about how much training I still lacked. I apologized, and floated back to the wagon with a lesson under my belt. Could He see what was beneath all the words that fell out of my mouth, waiting for me to speak them into existance?

I can not wait to tell Dee of my latest discoveries.

Chasing the Blues

Days had passed without Dee at my side. Days had passed without a sighting of Brave Warrior Fonce. Faces came and went, appearing around wagon ends or across a field or stream, but none were that familiarity I had come to relish. Despite the cotton candy sheen of a brilliant blue sky, my feet were scraping out a song of the blues through the dirt. Yama had called it a case of down in the dumps. When I was younger I wondered where the dumps were. Was it a real place, just over the hillside, on the other side of the creek bed? A sad place where the people didn't like each other much, and fought all the time, and wore frowns like drooping fishing lines.

I had wandered down to the stream to wash clothing. I still preferred the methods we used at the ranch - a great vat of bubbling hot water to soak out stains and ground in dirt set over banked coals that lasted all day. Another tub of cool clear water to rinse and freshen, before the garments were hung on tight twists of rope. Most here just used the stream. Scrubbing and washing and letting the natural movement do most of the hard work. It was functional, and served as a gathering spot throughout the day. I had begun to notice a pattern in my washing, for at least one tunic always released a bloom of crimson into the crystal water. The Brave Warrior's or that of an animal or maybe even a foe - I could never be sure. It might even just be a mishap with one of the shaggy bosk. My heart would sink with a bit of worry, and lift with a beat of pride. I found myself rather .. attached.

Not far down stream several had congregated. I could hear them speaking, soft tones carried easily along the crests of water, and the louder expressions reached my ears with little difficulty. There was talk of the Ubar going on a quest to find the rogue plainsmen. I knew of them, and a cold dread traveled the length of me as I thought of how much suffering could ensue. Unlike the men I had come in contact with, the only moral law the rogue plainsmen seemed to hold dear was to destroy all that they could. While I had come to realize that the people I now was as much a part of as any family, were ruthless and savage, powerful and unyielding - they had a passionate respect for the land, the sky, the bosk that they guarded with their very lives. A new man had taken the title of Ubar, a younger brother. I knew neither, and the comments simply washed over me like a soft morning rain. The talk then shifted to changes that had taken place. People granted a place near the central camp, directives of behavior expected, and the promotion of one to a command of prestige. My ears perked when I heard the name Fonce. Could there be any other? The talk continued of three Ubars, two past and one present. I noted it was guarded, with the voices then dying to a mere whisper at times. I found that curious, wondering if there might be repercussions for unfavorable statements made. Perhaps a superstition, that the sky might enact revenge for a sour word spoken about a Son favored? There were many threads of understanding I had yet to learn.

My washing finished, I started to leave the stream. I found I had shed the doldrums I had carried there, replaced with an urgent need to do something. Congratulations seemed appropriate, but lacking in the fullness of the feelings I had. I wanted to present Him with something, something that said...'You are wonderful'. It would take some time to figure out exactly what that was, but that little task was enough to keep the smile on my face again.

Just me

Waves upon waves of brown preceded us, like a rolling arm of the Thassa, kicking up froth and foam of dirt, dust and plains in it's shoreline wake. Like pretty colored umbrellas on the sand, trailing behind came all the vibrant colors of wagons, banners, flags, and people marking the change between blue sky and green earth. Countless villages now marked our passage in their smoldering damages, their losses and their victories. Stories - the stuff of legends - would be told to young for years to come. We were home, safely ensconced in the southern plains. At least for a little while. I was told that we stay only for a short while, forever moving to keep green fresh grass beneath our feet.

For all the nomadic energy of the Tuchuk, the drive of constant motion and movement, the camp - the Harigga - was in place in record time. It was as if it never left, and all the valleys and clearings, the villages and bluffs had each taken their time to pass us by as we simply sat. The wagons were in place, the small personal fires set and warming, even pens and stalls were erected before my very eyes. Home blossomed from the bellies of wagons and carts and appeared, in perfect form, every trunk and crate and barrel right in place. The neighbors might change, but not by much, perhaps just down a lane or two. Truly...these people carried home in their pockets and clung to the familiarity with a pride filled vengeance. Wanderlust, temporarily sated, the sense of community is immediately embraced.

In contrast, the caravan was an ever changing trade of faces and personality. Wagons held a sense of movement, and readiness, rarely the comfort of constancy and stability. The sense of family was fleeting, centering around a few, and even that was tenuous. While I had enjoyed the differences, the ebb and flow of people, complete with strengths and weaknesses that seemed to flavor the very nature of the group, I found such comfort in the framework of the familiar. It allowed me to expand and reach out with a confidence and sense of security. My life did not feel so upended, and I had begun to embrace the security of my place.

I still left a small display of offerings in His wagon each night. A light snack, food for the morning, fresh cool botas of water - and myself. Our paths had crossed in brief flashes of recognition, a glance or look in the midst of the actions of every day life that ensured survival. More than once I had grabbed Dee's hand to tattle about His latest glance, or what He was up to. Likewise, she murmured wistful songs of delight when spotting the man of her dreams, and we both would carry on with rich smiles on our hearts. I felt like I had a lifetime to tell Him and show Him all the things that grew inside of me. It was a wonderful feeling to have.

An Entirely Different Animal

I had stayed near the wagons of Brave Warrior Fonce for the next few days. I enjoy people, and discovering their tales and hearing their life songs, and possibly making a friend in the bargain. I also enjoy accomplishing tasks, mentally checking off my internal 'to-do' list. I set up a routine, though doing so with all the travel has been a bit of a challenge for me. The routine is simply my way of ensuring I actually do what I need to. Like collecting dung - which is quickly becoming my most hated task of the day. It takes all I have to push myself out of the warm wagon and into the striped light of rising Father Tor-Tu-Gor. Any opportunity to avoid it would most likely be taken, except, I have my routine. Thank goodness, or else I would be cold at night, and worse, so would Master.

Once the dung collecting was over, I continued on with the chore list. It had grown to almost fill my days and left me pleasantly tired by evening. Dee had spoken with me a bit more on training, though she was at the end of her own ideas on what to teach me. We both felt the remaining gaps could be filled by only One, and that had left a bit of tumult inside of me. Perhaps, that is in part, why I chose to adhere so rigidly to my routine. To give my own thoughts a chance to filter through while I occupied it with tasks easily tended to. The first day had passed quietly. The second woke with a brisk breeze through the wagon flaps that set them to smack out an odd beat. I found that I was late in rising, and groaned out some miserable words that surely it had to be the first day of the hand. I raced off to my off schedule routine without even combing my hair.

Shel was out already, standing among her many shades of blue wagons, her two little knee huggers racing around with energy I wish I could bottle and drink. I stopped briefly to talk with her, loneliness seems to plague her eyes each time I see her. I found myself offering to bring her some fuel chips, and marveled at myself for doing so. She smiled, a soft warm smile; the first I think I have seen in a while from anyone. I liked it alot, and found it again when I returned with enough chips to fill her small barrel on the platform.

She had several raggedy looking animals with her this time, being chased around the wagon wheels by the toddlers. Three verr bounded out from beneath the navy wagon and over to a patch of bright yellow green grass. I watched as two began munching, the third wandering further toward a slope of muddy grass. Of the two snacking on the tender shoots, the left one decided he wanted the right one's breakfast and nudged him out of the way to glut himself on both portions. I laughed, thinking animals have it almost easy compared to us of the human variety. They live on instinct and nature's thread of survival. They aren't lonely, they don't have to figure out social skills, and the males often fluff up into brilliant colors when trying to attract a female. The females, they just smell inviting, and all goes as pretty much planned.

I liked those last thoughts, and wondered if Brave Warrior Fonce was fluffing up His colorful feathers, testing them out on the inside of His wagon, as I came around to the one platform. From one end to the other I found crocks and pots and dribbled gravy. The scent of tabuk hit my nose immediately, and I could see the dark beast of a sleen curled beneath the wagon fast asleep. With a full belly I imagined.

People often leave things for Master Fonce. It is a human trait, to share, to show, to surprise with the hope of delight. From pelts to leather items to food, I can now understand why His supply wagons are always filled to the gills. Even I am afflicted with the need to give and show Him. He is a good man. His wagon platforms attest to this. Someone had left many containers of tabuk stew for Him. Only a few had been upended, the containers broken and the contents probably still a crust on the sleen's mouth. I felt so bad, that I hurried to take the untouched crocks to a safer spot, cleaning up the residue of the rest. The broken pieces were washed and spirited away into the slave wagon and the gravy was scrubbed clean from the steps, until no one would be the wiser. Except myself and a certain content sleen.

Later, I made my way to the central camp fire in search of the strong soap I recalled seeing, and the warm woodsy fragranced oil, hoping to rid the steps of some lingering bit of scent. As I rose to the wagon flaps, I spotted my Master. My heart did a few thumps, trying to remind me that I needed to breathe. I crept around the railed platform, and leaned over when I got close, whispering in His ear that I missed him. I found myself tipped over the railing and laying on the ground with my breath knocked out of me. It hurt and made my eyes water, and I felt awfully embarrassed, until I looked up and saw Him all over again. All I wanted to do was stay there, and I asked Him just that.

He is still not happy. There still is no smile to light up His face. I wondered, briefly, if this was the shadowed look that Ubara Cana spoke of, or something else entirely. He wanted to know why I wanted to stay. (Because Your feathers are not fluffed up and colorful and I do not smell inviting, and nature left us with emotions and thoughts instead.) I wanted to...stay...and well...stay. I don't even know what all I said, but it was pretty unfocused, and He told me I needed to come up with something more interesting - while I cleaned the supply wagon. I think He already knows my thought process.

The supply wagon has never been more neat and tidy. Animals continue to live as nature intended, invading and skulking around the outer edges of our lives as they see fit. And I..am owned by a man who doesn't take words at anything less that the value inscribed by the speaker. This night, I wrapped up the gift He had bestowed on me - the reality that I could not simply slide by in this life without commitment - and made myself the bearer of His snack for the evening.

Kick Butt

Nya likes to tease me. Some would say she likes to put me down, but either way, I am often Nya's verbal punching bag. This morning, amidst the most beautiful sunrise painted on the sky yet, while fingers of 'wake me up' cool air flirted with the hot breath of coming afternoon, several slaves and I were beating a path between wagons and stream to replenish the water barrels. One of the girls asked me why I don't just kick Nya's ass and be done with it. The question took me back a bit, for I have never felt the need to do such a thing before. I don't dismiss the possibility it could be in my future, but this certainly didn't warrant it, in my opinion. I had started explaining my theory - that for whatever reason, it made Nya feel better. I didn't think it was the best way of handling things, but so far, Nya hadn't managed to put a dent in my self esteem. That is not to say that Nya didn't broach some touchy subjects along the way, and often it was not with just me that she spewed her opinionated commentary. I had noticed Nya sported a black eye today. That still didn't stop her.

The subject was clothing, and Nya decided to inform us all that I was naked because I was not yet worthy of being a Tuchuk slave. Many of the slaves wore black leather bits and pieces. I didn't actually find them particularly attractive, and thought they looked uncomfortable, but there was a certain allure to the way the lacings crossed on some of girl's breasts, making them look so...generous. The woman who had asked about kicking butt looked to me and I smiled back at her as I lifted up my filled buckets - with a soft grunt to add flavor. I thought to myself, if Nya is an example of a Tuchuk slave, then I'm pretty glad to not be included. I then explained, the Brave Warrior had made me feel so beautiful just as I was. He acted like He truly enjoyed looking upon me just...this way. That - was all and more than I could ask for.

Nya shot after me as I started back through the swaying grass that He didn't enjoy it enough to ring my neck with His collar. Now see, there again, I didn't think about it like that at all. I was walking backwards now, feeling the water slosh and ripple out of the buckets, splashing glistening drops on my calves. "He called me His in front of the whole world Nya," was my reply. Nya wanted to know if that was it, was that all, was I happy with everything just like that. I said, of course not, and reminded her with a wink that I was smitten.

I turned and made my way back toward the wagons with that smile in place, but that was not to say my mind wasn't working. I was starting to get a real feeling for that focus Master had spoken of. I was starting to see how a woman could get lost in what He thought was important. I was still in between a free woman living in unfamiliar surroundings and that desire, and growing hunger, to be a slave. But not any slave, a slave to Fonce of the Tuchuk. Maybe it was my upbringing that had me thinking differently, but He and I seemed to understand a few things between us. Concepts, ideas, theories, they are not always easy to convey and have the same feelings about. The way I saw it, that was the real basis for my dreams - exploring life and all it's open spaces, smudging the boundaries and edges, with another. I pretty much planned on having a lifetime to do so too. And then there was the fact that I was..smitten, which I thought pretty much explained everything.

The rest of the day found me smudging other boundaries. Dee came riding up on a silver and brown kaiila, tucked behind the broad back of her Master. Another rode with them, and soon I felt the assessment that worked over my skin. My flesh is tender, with many areas that are not used to the exposeing smile of Father Lar Torvis. The weather has just begun to change, and with it, I could already feel the scratchy edge of heat that would most likely only compound as we moved farther south. A pink tinge warmed to a rose along my cheeks and neck, feathered against the side of breast and collected along my stomach as I stood there speaking with Dee's Master. He wanted to see what His girl had been up to. Meaning...teaching me. My performance went without a hitch as I assumed position and form to His commands. It was not the actions that I lacked in, at least not in my estimation, it was the heart and soul that went with it. The heart and soul that had yet to be surrendered. The heated hunger, the desire, the edgy essence of fear that clung to me must have been noticable. I felt like Master Fonce's fingerprints marked me with His imprint already, as I sought that which was still undefined and untasted. "No Nya, this was not all I wanted", I thought.

Pleased, Dee's Master let us head off together while he rode for duty with the herds. Dee wanted to spend a little time freshening up, soften the rough edges and make herself more feminine. I was all for that. We headed for the fire in the Center of the head wagons, looking for the supply wagon that held some special soaps and oils. There were many gathered around, and I was realizing that this was truly like our kitchen and table at home. Always filled with family and friends that came together for talk and catching up and some well deservered relaxation. My bright fire was there too. He that set my skin alight and my heart to dance. Dee must have heard my audible delight, and detoured her course in His direction. I didn't even get down to my knees before He was telling Dee to keep me away from the Main Fires until I was trained.

Where did His smile go? Where was all that slap happy to see us light me up and let's dance glimmer in His eyes? What or who had darkened my Master's spirits and sucked away that little glow that could spark at a moment's notice? Dee didn't want to chance disobedience, and truth is, neither did I. I would just worry from the shadows around the wagons and wonder if a sourpuss like Nya had been poking at Him. Or something...more serious.

A little something different

Everything here, to me, is different. From the almost constant movement, the living conditions, and even my status, everything to me is new and untested and...different. I feel like a small child at times, marveling at some new flower I spot, or a new way of cooking bosk, or the things you can do with a hide. When we are on the move, eating the plains beneath our every step, the vista of experiences changes by the ahn. I began to notice things, like the change of color in different grasses, showing some that must have sprouted before nature sent an icy breath of cold to temporarily halt production, to others that were verdant and lush in soft packed earth, having benefited from consistent warm rain. Little patches of wild flowers and herbs were always mentioned, if we found them before the trample of foot and hoof, and I started gathering samples whenever I could. My dreams had started blooming again, and I often was racing over to share my find with Dee and the others. I would search the horizon if a particularly delightful find was in hand, hoping to share my little treasure with the Brave Warrior if I could. At first, I was teased without relief each time I danced over to find Dee, exclaiming..."Look at what I found! I can put this in the corner of the wagon and it make it all sunny!" 0r.."Wait 'til I show Him this!"

Dee and a few others appreciated my discoveries and more than once pointed out something of interest as we walked. I wanted to show Him everything, see it through the glint in His eyes, and share the marvel I felt. That wasn't easy with all that it took to keep moving, heading always for the southern home. I started carrying baskets or pouches so that I might bring all my finds home. Every now and then I noticed another digging up herbs and flowers with roots in tact so that we all might have little potted patches of specimens to keep. Someone told me I was like a little boy, tucking frogs and stones in my pockets. Another said I was going to get kicked out of the wagon, because there wouldn't be room for everything and me. Nya told me that all men wanted from slaves was sex, food, and clean clothes - and not necessarily in that order.

I just chattered on without pause. Life was new and brilliant and everything had the potential to delight. I asked Dee, didn't everyone like seeing, touching, learning something new? I didn't really wait for an answer, for I was already planning the way I would leave something for the Warrior Fonce along with that nighttime snack, and morning beverage. Every evening I set up the little display in His wagon. Sometimes the trail of beads led the way, sometimes it was just the gathering itself that spoke. A small bowl of purple flower buds, or a new stitch learned on the leather strips. It was my own form of communication when I couldn't find Him personally. I missed Him, but if I saw Him working in the distance, I was happily mesmerized. Dee said I was smitten..and she was right.

Each day when I returned to the wagons, I darted through each one, making sure they were clean and looking for signs of differences. With the pause in travel, repairs were an ongoing activity, and I looked for my own communication from Him.. Evidence of a repaired wheel, a torn canvas put back together, the movement of a crate or even the empty bowl of what once held stew or meat. One evening I had two special treats in my hand to leave for Him. A length of leather strip with a series of makeshift beads attached. It started with a tight knot of the remains of my white dotted dress, followed by a silver stone streaked with blue, and lastly, a circle of leather with a rudimentary animal scratched in the surface. It was in a way, my calendar string, keeping track of important events in my life - the one begun with the use of a muddied white dress. I had also fashioned a soft doll out of the strips of binding fiber that had trailed from my wrists after leaving the healer. I had heard that the woman Asria's daughter was ill. I could feel it inside of me, an empty ache of worry. I had no doubt that the family of people here were taking care of her, including Warrior Fonce, but every little girl could use another doll to hold and talk to. I had intended to show Him, then find out how I might get it to Asria and Lei, but I got a bit of surprise myself instead.

The inside of Master Fonce's wagon is usually simple in shades of black. There are a few small details of color, things that appeared to be remnants of a feminine touch. Set off against the dark lines, His wagon spoke to me of order, control, and a passionate elegance. Not..any...more. Everywhere I looked color danced before my eyes. Reds and purples, gold and blues. As if a wildflower patch had taken up residence, and brought along a few cousins. I laughed and circled around several times, then simply sat in the middle of it all. The mish mash of designs reminded me of Goldie's wagon. Like treasures found, that were all too dear to part with, and they all needed to be present. I thought of my dreams, at first a simple sketch, then broadened to include a hundred pictures, with more growing on the edges. I couldn't pick just one to be ..-the one- I had to have them all. Nothing seemed untouched by His hand, nor was there any clear theme here. Except for the lack of ...black. I wondered now, had Brave Warrior Fonce changed? I couldn't wait to see.

Broken Prey

I was crouched upon a hilltop, watching the shades of silver moonlight ruffle the grasses down below when I spotted her. She was running, leaping at times over small gullies and bending into sudden rises in the uneven landscape. Words and pictures kept sliding off her skin, sloughed off as if the bloom of heat was being wisked away with the nighttime breeze. When the pale light dappled a finger over her, I could see that it was she that kept trying to remove the designs from her skin. Over and over she wiped at the ink, the dye, the paint, but each time new wording spread like a fire over fuel doused flesh.

He appeared from my left, following the same path of rises and falls as she, his strides longer, surer, eating the ground easily between them. Yet I could tell he was uncertain, hesitating. I could feel emotions, desire and loathing from Him, in a twisted conjunction of opposing forces. He would halt, and each time he did, she would stop as well, turning to wave him on. Beckoning with a smile that sparkled in the irridescent light. She could not see the turbulence that warred within him, nor did I think it would have stopped her if she had. He was trying to warn her that this was no lover's game, but she wiped away a string of half finished pictures from her chest and offered the canvas of her heart before flitting over the tips of the grass once more.

He was gaining on her, and I felt my throat tighten, constricting against words of warning, and cheers of encouragement. He was ten steps away, six, four....

The Hunter

I asked about the drums this time when they changed from a roaming series of highs and lows to a code of heavy thumps. I was with a few women in the fields searching for dung when the sounds came, and most paused to listen. Nya answered my question with a very clipped and dry..."They are saying that all slaves are to run to the farthest bank of the stream and down until we come to the edge of the herd and wait for the Central Fire to kiss the horizon." There were a couple of hoots that followed, then a slender blonde told me that the drums said something about staying put; that we would not be moving again for a few days. I smiled at Nya, after thanking the blonde. I am not sure if it is just me that Nya acts this way toward or everyone. It was something I thought to ask Dee.

Dee returned to her Master's wagons and I did the same, passing by a smaller grouping that was basically next to the wagons of Master Fonce. The canvases were painted in shades of blue, from navy to sky blue and various names in between. A young woman was working diligently beneath one of the platforms, occasionally calling out to the two small children that frolicked nearby. I had offered a quick smile and greeting before I continued on toward my ultimate destination. Mud seemed to still be caked on everything and I started with that task before I would tackle anything else. Lar Torvis rode in the sky, hardly slipping behind the shade of cloud and it was easy to find every clump and clod that might have hidden from view otherwise. That dark imposing sleen graciously allowed me to move about freely, even changing his stretching out spot from one bit of shadowed grass to another when I went on to brushing away the debris on the next wheel in line.

The little boy had raced over, and the dark sleen had instantly risen, though made no sound or attempt to divert the course of the chubby legs. Another set of small legs raced after, and soon the mother was there as well. She did not look at me directly. I have found some women do and some do not, though I have not been stationary before anyone long enough to feel the full weight of their choice. I do not always think of it myself, being a slave and being naked, though when a nippy breeze wafts by I am helpless not to notice. She lingered long enough for me to strike up conversation, and before I knew it she was showing me how to grease the axles and I was giving her tips on mending torn canvases. We parted when another woman kicked up dust and grass on a dirty gray kaiila and brought about the squeals of the youngest set. I heard the rider chastise my "friend" Shel for exposing her nephew and niece to such rot, and then they all returned to the wagons of blue.

By the end of the day I was tired, aching all over and bone weary. I had found much to do that hadn't even touched the repairs that would be needed. Cleaning and trying to salvage what might have been damaged in transport took up most of the day. My head was still throbbing and the vulo egg spot was tender to the touch. I could hear the growing echos of voices from somewhere a few wagons over, and thought to myself, 'yes, that is just what I need. A little family dinner.' I dared the trip without Dee, without her assistance and guidance, taking my chances. I was not disappointed.

Oh His smile is delicious, and He touched me right on that spot! He is like Toad, have a bruise, and they will find it, and poke it, and delight in the yowls that it brings. He didn't keep me long, for He pointed out a haunch of tabuk that was hanging by the supply wagon. It was beautiful, large, and waiting. On the ranch, we had our fair share of livestock to eat from, but several would go hunting on a regular basis. There were always those that came back with a prize...and those who did not. Kohut called it lucky skill. I traced a look over Brave Warrior Fonce and added lucky skill to His list of attributes. I am not sure what inspired it, but the result was a swat upside my head. Throbbing and ringing in my ears, and stars in my eyes and butterflies taking flight in my stomach. Add panic to the emotional mix and I was pretty much a complete mess I am sure. I couldn't tell what shape the tabuk was in, and I have never skinned nor sectioned up an animal like that. Someone else always did it, and the meat would arrive in our kitchen in roasts and legs, and backs, ready for making into chops and whatever we could come up with. On the other hand, ask me to cook it and I could whip up a feast fit for an Ubar.

I have all these things running around inside me that I don't quite have a name to yet. I think I was nervous about messing up the meat. I knew how important it was to the hungry bellies around the camp. And it was my Master's no less. I came back to the fire asking for help, and while I felt dumb dweller stamped all over me, I was determined to change the wording to fine cook of the Brave Warrior. The Lady Cana was generous with guidance, and words of encouragement. It was a familiar feeling to chat with another woman over a roasting haunch of tabuk. She has infinite patience, and I am realizing, a genuine liking and concern for Warrior Fonce. She shared a few likes and dislikes and her own personal observations of what His friendship has meant to her. I think anyone would be lucky to have her or Him as a friend.

The Hunt

“Before beginning a Hunt, it is wise to ask someone what you are looking for before you begin looking for it.”
(Winnie the Pooh)

Faith in Shadows

We raced away from the wagons as if our asses were on fire, Dee leading and me hurrying to keep up. When we got a good 20 wagons down the row, she finally stopped and we caught our breath a bit while strolling at a more leisurely pace through all the platforms and people. Nothing was quite familiar yet, and while I didn't realize it, people were still trying to jockey their wagons into safe arrangements. Dee was chattering on about this and that, about her search to find me, and the hope that Brave Warrior Fonce hadn't given me to some one legged vulo keeper down the alley.

She mentioned missing eyes and blindness, muddied bells and spells. I half listened through the still aching pound of my head, but her words kept falling out and I hoped I could find them later. She was just at the part about missing a chance to ask my Master when I spun around and held her still in front of me, the bells ringing out to vocally deny the mud theory. I wanted to know if He was all right, and once she assured me that He looked well, if not tired, we continued on over the soft grassy ground. I realized, as we walked, I now had two heroes in my eyes. Brave Warrior Fonce, and Brave Friend Dee.

Dee usually knows the layout of the wagons and encampments as if she has a map drawn on the back of her hand. I envy her that familiarity, and understanding, for I so often feel lost and all the wagons tend to start looking the same to me. We had just turned and started up a slight rise, with the wagons we were heading for up on a bit higher ground, when I spotted something. I wasn't sure what it was exactly, but in my mind, it said..go there. I pushed ahead, half with the feeling this was the way to go, and half with the curiosity of wondering what drew me in the first place. When I got to the gathering of wagons, Dee came up behind me and exclaimed, "You found them! How did you do it?"

That was a very good question. The little markers I had painted on the ends of the wagon were hardly visible now, and surely not from a distance. So what was it? It was the red. And the black. I am not sure of the pictures painted on the sides of Master Fonce's wagons. They evoke feelings more than concrete ideas in my head. But one thing I noticed, and I guess is what I spotted from far away..is the brilliant clarity of the red. It throbs on the canvas with the pulse of life, but always, at each stroke that I find, I also find a broad brush of black. I do not know if the red is heart, or courage, love or passion, but it always has a dark shadow touching it. Dee just said "uh-huh" and nodded as if the knot on my head must be worse than she first thought.

We hugged, and I thanked her countless times, assuring her that I would be fine. I told her I had some lighting up to do, and I did. I opened every flap, window, canvas parting I could find and lit up that main wagon like someone had stuck the Central Fire inside it just for Master Fonce. He couldn't help but see...I was home.

When I sat finally, watching a few stars stroll through the charcoal sky, I thought about what Dee had been telling me. There had been injuries, even a few deaths in the crossing. Wagons had been damaged, and even under the best of circumstances, they were wet and muddy. Some canvases were torn and most of the cheerful flag markers had become brightly colored toys for the winds and rain. Those people I had happened to meet in my time here all seemed well as reported by Dee. Only the woman Asria's little girl was ill, and that drew a pall around my shoulders. How lucky I had been.

Someone had pulled me from the swirling deadly water. There had been nothing to mark me as Master Fonce's. A slave with a touch of faith had found me, and a Man with a touch of faith would do so as well.

Dee!

DEE! It was the first voice I had recognized in a long time. It was the first name I could remember as well. I heard her, and I shed the nightmare I was dreaming like water sluicing through that swollen valley. We hugged tightly in front of the watchful eyes of Healer Hans and his companion Gurtha. Gurtha was asking Dee if this was her, which I assume meant me. Dee was nodding against my shoulder while I heard Gurtha in the background tsk and add that they should have just let all us animals drown. I remembered hearing that same thing somewhere in the maddening memories of time.

His hands were cold like ice. Tiny prickles of coldness that invaded everything, forcing my breast to the side and delving into the sweet heat between my thighs. I had pushed him away with the cross of one leg against the other and tried so hard to force the throbbing pain from my head. Bright white hot searing light kept cutting into my brain like a sharp knife. His voice was thin, sharp as the light, demanding that I open my eyes and speak to him. I couldn't think of what to call...things. I couldn't think of names. In between the blissful shades of darkness, I tried so hard to tell him what the feather in my hair meant, the bells around my ankle, and even how I needed to be lighting a lamp and flying in the clouds.

They, the voice with the cold hands and another, a woman, told me several times that I must have been hit by a barrel. I couldn't fathom what a barrel was doing in the middle of the plains. It hurt my head too much to try and sort it out and I found if I closed my eyes long enough they would go away. My chest felt heavy and wet inside, as if every breath taken was fighting a deluge of mist. I heard them arguing once, about who they should tell. The woman said I might be worth a bosk roast and just give me away. The man said I had bells, and those were someones bells. They just had to figure out who's. The woman said they were what made me worth the bosk roast.

I was sitting, patiently, for my earlier impatience had earned me binding fiber around my wrists. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to find home. It was there, inside me, even if I couldn't describe it or give it a name. Healer Hans was speaking softly, gently, as if he had suddenly gained compassion, telling me they had taken the feather from my hair and the amulet I had been wearing and asked around the wagons if anyone knew who I belonged to. I felt like an unclaimed sack of grain at the market. And I couldn't even remember my own name. He told me that would most likely come back to me as my headache eased and the swollen lump on my head subsided. It was early evening now, of what day and time, and what location I still wasn't sure. And then I heard Dee's voice outside in the fresh balmy air.

Unfortunate Events

Crossing the stream, actually the rain swollen valley, frightened me a bit. If it had been my choice, I would have waited. But I grew up where my home was on rock solid foundation, the swollen creek did little more than flood the bunk house or vulo coop, and I didn't need to be anywhere soon. It was not my choice, either. I could swim, and rather well, so I wasn't entirely worried about a mishap should it occur, but this wasn't the pond half a pasang down the creekside either. This water was deceptive, swirling with belligerent black fingers of underlying tides that rushed without holy promise toward some ending that I could not foresee. I stood in uncertainty beside the many rows of wagons lined up waiting to cross and looked for a familiar face, somewhere among all the others. Lines stretched as far as I could see in every direction, taking over the plains with sheer enormity. Where I had once searched the unending horizon for a sign of life, now I could hardly find the horizon for all the life in abundance. I was a little scared in the crowd of people I didn't know, and I was a little...lonely.

The wagons had shuffled around in getting into place to be taken across the water, so that some of the neighbors I was used to seeing nearby were now scattered up and down the banks of the valley. Others, unfamiliar families, stood on either side of my Brave Warriors Wagons. The waiting brought on visiting, as people caught up with each other. It was not always easy to do so when moving constantly, using your available moments of light for repairs, and the basic needs of survival. Singing and music peppered the air down the bunched up rows, and now and again a small dark haired child raced around a wagon wheel before darting off in a different direction. Right beside me, a woman held a baby against her hip and tried to keep track of an older boy as the waiting wore on. I stared at him now and again, trying to figure out what was different about him. Finally I realized that his cheeks were soft and smooth, unmarred by the deviations the men wore in varying colors. The woman caught me staring at him I suppose, and kept trying to divert his attention. When I realized, I moved to the wagon ahead to await my passage.

Just as there are good people and those of less stellar character in the cities, and even on the ranch, the same was proving true here. Not far down, youth...boys becoming men who did bear those scars...were still revelling in a night that seemed to have been filled with paga. As fate would have it, our three wagons would start across the water at the same time. It was nice, at first, drifting along on the dipping water, the other bank in my sights. I was searching again for familiarity, my Brave Warrior most of all, and Dee if I could find her, standing watch near the railing. I heard something down the echoing valley, but my attention was riveted on the movements along the bank. I was amazed at the amount of work that had been done already, probably while I was lost in dreams and silly little things like..cleaning out a bowl or rolling up some furs. I guess, every part is as important as the next, but I surely was appreciating the hard labors of these people. Just about then, shouts grew louder. There was the sound of cracking wood, splintering in the late afternoon light, the brill of ripping canvas, water splashing. I turned, just in time to catch the woman falling into the water down aways, the baby still balanced on her hip. My heart lurched into my throat and I leaned as if I could help her, only to feel my own platform lurch to a halt.

The water was cold, shocking to my skin and it felt like a thousand needles assaulted me. This was not the pleasuring water of a hand ago, but angry turbulent water that had an evil glint to it's eye. I wasn't that far from the bank, and I turned toward it, just as I felt my head thud and try to explode.

Holdin' My Breath

I have never slept with anyone before. I think I have mentioned it, when I first went into the slave wagon. I was all kinds of nervousness and excitement, just thinking of it. But that wasn't the start of it, by any means. Just Him coming was enough to send me into a frenzy of activity. Everything within the wagon had been packed carefully and shifted to balance nicely on the trip over the valley. The only things out were ankle deep layers of comfortable furs, the small copper brazier, the jar of salve and those softened boots. All were lit up by the amber glow of the oil lamp's fingers of warm light. I washed, scrubbing away the residue of oiled tarps and crusted mud until my skin was pinked and warm. The tease of spice...vanilla and nutmeg I think is what I had found, had scented the water and left a warm beckon along my flesh. Each time I lowered my head I felt my own delight in breathing in the scent.

I didn't know if He would keep me there or send me to the slave wagon. It was almost too much to think about. I knew that came with the territory of being a slave, but my transition was not one of those forced sudden dramatic changes in my life. It was filled with options, choices, and a lot of protection to find my way. I was rather grateful He was letting me learn my heart, my wishes and desires. I don't know what might occur if my choices ran contrary to His, but we hadn't gotten to that bridge yet. I suppose there is a very intense feeling that races through a man's blood when He sees, conquers, and partakes. There must, likewise, be a very powerful feeling when what He wants comes to Him of her own choosing. Of her own want. Of her own need and desire.

He ...has this uncanny ability to create that need and desire and want...and ultimately that choice..in me.

He dropped into His furs without even seeing me. I watched Him smile, oh great Sky how I love His smile. Now I love watching Him relax and sink into the furs with such comfort that I wouldn't have disturbed Him for the world. I was gifted this moment, to reap the benefits of my efforts. Whether He would have done the same had I prepared His wagon or not, I was so glad that I made it comfortable. It inspired me to wake early, long before the stars would even dip low for the day. I made sure He would have a warm meal to start His day for I knew it would be a strenuous one. I added fresh botas of water, and drew little designs of happiness in the leather. I had found two feathers, one mottled browns and whites, streaked with crimson. The other was startling blues, shades of aqua, and a pale cream. The brown one was tied into my own hair, just back from my forehead. The other was left with the prepared breakfast.

I couldn't resist it any longer. There were words on my lips, hungers in my heart that I knew were planted, seeds breaking free, taking root, reaching for the encouragement of growth. I could feel the change slowly working through every cell of my being. And I curled up close to His warmth.

Catch me

They were lines, culminating in arrows at the ends. I thought myself rather original in the body paint I had fashioned. They wound along my thigh, across my arm, even teasing through the valley of my breasts. I felt very ...daring and bold to be doing such a thing. And publicly too. My initial suspicions that something had been ignited deep inside me were proving to be true. It wasn't going away either. Any moments of hesitation or dismay I might taste upon was quickly and easily swept away like the rain had washed over me. All I had to do was think of pleasure someone took in me like this, and nothing else seemed to have any weight. He could dress me up in a hundred layers of leather, swaddle me in silk, or strip me as naked as I was. That didn't matter. What was important, what - did - matter, what drove me was this hunger to be there with Him.

I went to the clearing amidst the many wagons where Dee and I had found Him another night. Dee was not with me at first, but I was going anyway. She did join me at just the right moment. Isn't that what friends do? There were so many faces, so many things going on. There was talk of crossing a flooded valley. There were trunks being moved, and supplies sifted to balance out the weight of wagons and platforms. There were beautiful women working alongside men. There were decadent slaves laboring and children playing in the background. And there was the smile that I looked for. His smile.

There was work to be done, and He told me to help. I soared a little, and my arrows probably flashed a brighter depth against my skin for a moment. Yes, I would do -anything- for Him. Thankfully, Dee was there to help me. To guide me in the proper directions of wagons that I was unfamiliar with, and names I couldn't yet put to faces. My bells, those beautiful song makers, sang to me as we moved trunks, and prepared the wagons for the big move in the morning. There is so much to do. So much to think of. I would be lost without all the help and ideas that swept around the fire, making sure I knew what to do.

The urge to run to Him, to show off all my designs, had turned into this determined effort to fit in, and to make Him happy to have me around. Four slaves trying to lift and move trunks, carry heavy oiled tarps, and rearrange a wagon should have that effect. I do not have muscles. The women have muscles. Dee has muscles. HE has muscles. I am soft and tender, and aching. A wagon step rose up and bit me in the behind. And a shelf bit Dee. I have found that there is rarely a dull moment when I am in the vicinity of my Brave Warrior. I suppose it would be true around any of the Tuchuk. It is like one big gathering of family. From teasing to hard work to simply enjoying a meal together.

I was just about done with whatever could be done around this large warm fire when the Ubara appeared beside me. Dee had told me a little of her that night, and more in the days to follow. Generous in heart and spirit, and quite unconcerned with my state of undress, she offered a jar of salve for the tired aches that would surely plague Master Fonce after the hard day's work. I could see, now and again, the stretch and roll of His shoulder, though He never let it stop Him. I could have kissed the Ubara Cana. I was touched that she cared enough to share her special kaiila recipe salve. I could tell that kaiila were important to her, by the one drawn on her wagon, the special way she spoke of them, and I could tell that Warrior Fonce was just as special.

And I learned that sometimes going ahead and doing instead of patient waiting can earn you rewards you never expected. My heart fluttered, my bells sang, and all the tiredness I had felt was miraculously gone when I finally felt the warmth of the Warrior's body beside mine. When He said He would be sleeping in His wagon..I knew my face lit up brighter than that fire we were near. Who said I was giving up my dreams?