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.