We were out of soap. Plain, ordinary, wash your hands and clothing and everything type of soap. No frills, no pretty scents, no little bits and pieces of colors or herbs - just soap. I think I was almost shocked, standing and staring into an empty bucket where there used to be chunks of soap. I wondered if we were being pilfered, but the absurdity made me laugh almost out loud. Maybe we had used it faster than I could imagine, which was possible, but still surprising.
Not long after Dee had arrived, and shortly there after, her Master. I had almost forgotten about the soap, what with Dee's whole upset over slave wine, but when her Master left with Dee trailing behind, I remembered. I left with them, detouring toward the wagon of Asria just to check the water barrel level, figuring I might as well get all my running around done at once. I returned to the fires where the higher echelon of the camp would gather throughout the day. Most were gone, leaving the clearing quiet, kept in company with distant noises, brave small creatures darting about in search of juicy tidbits, and the occasional movement of a slave left to toil.
I stepped beneath the supply wagon with the botas dangling at the corners and started searching the few buckets left out. I found the roughly hewn squares and rectangles just where I expected, layered inside a parched looking basket with a hole in one corner. Right beside it, half dusted over with dirt, was a silver ring of some sort and I took that along with two chunks of soap. I have become a bit of a ..hoarder... stashing things I find into little secret cubby holes and that includes supplies I think we might need. Obviously I had not stashed any soap yet, but I was going to correct that mistake.
I straightened up with a little stretch, feeling the warm air whistle about my shift and tease a spot right above the back of my knee. That moment of observation was enough to keep me silent, and allow me to hear the sudden arrival of boots on the platform just ahead of me. I was surprised, to say the least, and more so when I saw and heard the shift of more boots on the steps. Then the voices filtered into the sunlit air and they were unmistakably those of the Artisan, Seveya, and the starlight of my eyes, my Master.
I froze, and learned - by proxy - how to keep those bells quiet. If I was asked why I stayed, still and quiet, hanging for dear life on every word spoken, the best I could come up with is interest seasoned with a hint of fear. Do I regret it? Not on your life.
They started off in the middle of what was an interrupted conversation. The topic was of a place, an emotional place where emotions do not seem able to take root, or where, perhaps, emotions have overgrown even the desire to breathe. Where you want the world to stop, just for a little while, but it won't. I found myself listening to each idea that was offered, then testing it against my own cache of experience. Had I ever felt this? What was it like? Examining it and then bringing it back to apply it to the situations being spoken of, finding the likenesses and differences to understand the whole from another's concept.
I learned of loss, and how it shapes each of us, in comparison to what we are given. How the event of childbirth holds far more meaning for these two people than the simple procreation of life and continuation of legacy. I saw layers of protection that evolved out of necessity, and will brush at my own defenses in wonder over time. I know too, now, how deeply the mistrust of dreams can burrow.
I learned of love. A love so great it bears all things, and can not be broken. Love that would take my sketchy dreams and drown them in the tears of joy and experience, and yet, my dreams stretch as far and wide as the love they spoke of. A love that can not be capped, that holds no strains of fear and selfishness.
I learned of resolve and bravery and that even heroes have the humanity of uncertainty woven within their fabric. Perhaps..that is ..what makes them heroes I learned of revenge, and what forms it can inspire. I learned of my own...bravery, and a sense of willingness to protect that which I cherished.
I learned how deeply we can hold onto the beliefs that we are not meant to succeed, the lies that will destroy our innermost desires. How the travesty of inspiring those lies is all too easy to participate in. I learned just how much faith can be lost in the course of a lifetime, and just how much faith and belief I actually have.
There was a touch, an electricity, that warmed the area. I do not know if it is the two combined, or the reflection of the man that sat in the center of it all. There was need, and giving, and my woman's heart swelled along with the female responses. A shared response, where a like heart has found a home to rest in. A reaction, to a child's broken hearted regret, to a young man's emotional protectiveness, to a man's need to understand and be understood.
I wished I could see their faces, for I am a creature of details and expressions. Hungering for the moment when light hits the eyes and watching the involuntary catch of a breath. My own was held, though the necessity of movement to uncramp muscles probably added the tremor of bells to the air.
With a crash, a punctuation of sound marked their departure. I held still for a while longer, keeper of the secrets. Secrets not made to destroy another, but secrets of the heart which were no less sacred. I can not say how they will shape me, but already I feel the scripting on my heart and soul.
And for that I will be eternally grateful.
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