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.