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!'