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.