A gift

It never had occurred to me that other people also called the woman the vulo woman. I'm not sure why I would be the only one, but I was surprised to hear it, and to find out that my vulo woman was in fact...'the' vulo woman. I made my way to her wagons with a curiosity flavoring every step. My bells set the vulo in action as they always did. Wings beat against the dirt and send little plumes of dust into the air, the cackle and chirp and squawk of alarm or announcement soon drowned out any other sound around. I stopped in the middle of her camp and stood still as I always did, until she would find her way to meet me. I swear, her wagons did NOT have vulo painted on them three days ago.

She greeted me by asking if Tages had finally found me. So that was his name. Tages. I nodded with a smile and replayed his message, asking her why she wanted to see me. She motioned a long stick-like finger toward a pen of vulo milling around against each other.

"Those are for Fonce," was her reply.

I was surprised, of course. A little shocked, and really uncertain what I was supposed to do now. There had to be three dozen maybe, and I had absolutely no idea how I was even going to get them to the wagons of Master, let alone what to do with them when I did. I thanked her, profusely. Then I asked if I could come tomorrow or the next day and pick them up.

The vulo woman was having none of it. In fact, she was rather adamantly insistent that they be moved...NOW. I looked from her to the vulo and back and rubbed a spot on my forehead for a moment, hoping that action would give me insight or inspiration into what to do. By the time I was dropping my hand the vulo woman was pushing two large baskets into my grasp. My back hurt just thinking of trying to bend and lift and gather.

The vulo woman led me over to the pen and told me to take what I could and come back for the rest. I was at least grateful for that little bit of allowance, and I crouched to start moving them from one pen to the other. I couldn't get much more than a dozen, and those dozen make their displeasure known by sound and the poke and peck of my arms. By the time I reached the wagons of Master, little red spots of blood roamed up and down my skin like the splatter of some kill. What was worse, I had no idea where I was going to put them all.

I was never so happy to hear a familiar voice, even if it was mostly comprised of laughter. I suppose I did look a sight, bobbing heads and ruffling feathers competed with my own awkward movements and less than savory exclamations. Red...shouted out...was one of the nicer things I said. I enlisted her help after she offered, though she has no idea she had no choice. I thought, no I hoped, that Red had some experience with vulo. The first thing Red did was to dunk them in a barrel of water. I thought maybe it was a trick she learned up north, but, I was wrong. The trick created wet, half drowned, angry vulo. Without a home. Between Red and I we came up with a makeshift coop - the slave wagon. It was not a moment too soon either, for the magpie awoke and started dive bombing the clucking pecking vulo. Red tried to use a damp bedraggled vulo as a weapon, while I was trying to get the slave wagon emptied of slave things.

With Red's help, we were able to round up the remaining two dozen, though not without one death. I am not too sure if Red is made for tending vulo. The vulo woman wasn't too sure either, and told Red she would return for vulo care lessons. I was relieved to hear that, hoping to learn myself. I would muse on what was beneath Red's behavior later. We made our way back to the wagons under hanging slivers of moonlight, and the last thing I recall was how the clouds look like they were being pecked by the beaks of the sisters. Three dozen brown and beige vulo - minus one, strutted and restlessly explored the wagon of slave women. Tucked within the 36 was one of pure white color, not a speck or spot on the feathers. One other had a vibrant red beak, so unlike the gold and goldenbrowns of the others. A third scratched against the floor boards on feet with only three toes each, while the others balanced on four, five or six toes per foot. We would not discover the oddities for some time.

The vulo woman, Sibyl, stood watching us leave. I never saw Tages in the shadows, but he saw Red and I as we left. He asked Sibyl if we took the right vulo and she nodded in the grays of evening. Tages was pleased. Sibyl sent a woman's plea to the sky.

Lost and Found

Today I learned a lesson: Be aware of your surroundings. It is a lesson I have learned before, though sitting here in the midst of hundreds of wagons, I tend to be a bit comfortable and forget. The lazy yawn and stretch that was so typical of the sleen beneath Master's wagon wasn't even a giveaway.

I had seen the magpie several times since the first spotting. Each and every time it took me by surprise, swooping low on those glossy black wings, the white crest on it's chest capturing a burst of brightness before it took command of the sky again. I hadn't thought much of it between sightings, and still hadn't connected all the clues. I, truthfully, hadn't realized there had been clues.

The day was balmy. The Central Fire kept a modest appearance behind thick puddings of gray and white clouds. The air was thick and heavy with the promise of rain. It deepened all the colors until they stood in start contrast to one another. I had just settled to the platform steps of Master's supply wagon, favoring very aching and tender muscles in my back and neck. I wasn't sure if the extra water and dung delivery to Oren's and Sev's wagons on top of Master's and Asria's were taking their toll, or I had simply moved wrong. I was painfully aware of every move I attempted to make, and none of them were being made very quickly.

"Hey, slave of Fonce!"

When did another voice suddenly arrive? I looked into the golden brown eyes of a boy about 12 years. Sandy brown hair clung to the edges of grimy cheeks before twisting in a sturdy braid that was visible on either side of his torso when whipped into action with his movements. "The vulo woman wants you." was added with an upward tip of his chin and a jut of his head in a point toward the right.

"The vulo woman? Who is the vulo woman?" said I, the ever confused one.

It was the second voicing of the word vulo that seemed to set everything into motion. With a loud caw, suddenly the magpie swooped from out of no where,
repeating "vulo" in a birdlike voice. While the magpie circled above us, the boy shrugged slightly and moved toward the cooking fire.

"Yeah, the woman with all the vulo, even painted on her wagons." was explained, though I am pretty sure he added "dumb bitch" at the end. Which brought my eyes to narrow a moment, before I once more cast a wary eye to the flapping dark wings.

"Got anything to eat?" the messenger added.

I told him no. Then watched as he took a handful of meat chunks from the simmering pot over the fire. Would serve him right if he got the searing hot ones. Though he surprised me, tossing a chunk upward toward the magpie, who snatched it from the air and then returned to the top of Master's wagon.

Where there was a ...nest. A colorful dome of dried grass, reds and blues and pinks. Deep green yarn stuck out from one edge. Glittering spots captured bits of light, though dully through the thick moist air. And suddenly I wondered about all the little things that had gone missing lately, like a bone needle and that golden ring I had found. While I was trying to think of what had been misplaced or 'lost' I finally looked back to the messenger boy.

But he was now...gone.

Crafting Happiness

I have found two places that I like to call...mine. Places where I comfortably settle, lost in my own company and lost, too, in the work I am doing. When the Central Fire burns hot in the blue-white of sky, turning all beneath it's smiling rays to smoldering steamy bright colors, I seek a small cove at a bend in the stream. If I didn't know better I would swear that the dappled light, fingers that split the Central Fire into darker shades and spill it onto deep mossy green diffused through an umbrella of tall waving grass, came through a copse of trees. It is, in fact, gifted by a high knoll that cradles this cove of meandering water. The fronds of vegetation add to the height of the rise, hiding from view the gurgling water that plays in the mud below. The air is sweet and cool among the several scattered boulders. Crisp water washes the breeze, and leaves the trace of fresh grass and stone, the undertone a lingering heat of Lar' Torvis, much like a spice and sugar mixture for seasoning food.

When the heat of the day is not so blistering, there is a spot at the back platform of Master's Spex wagon. The light filters through the canopies of wagons, much like the sounds weave through the lanes and alleys. There is a spot open clear to the vast expanse of plains beyond, until it runs right into the smoky blue of horizon. There is a spot that gives a partial view of one of the larger lanes that leads to the Central Fire cooking spot. Immediately around the platform is a grassy area rimmed by several high tufts of grass. Solitude and company, all in one.
I have been camped out behind the Spex wagon for several days now, trying to finish this project I started. It is supposed to be done today, by my calculations. I have checked with several yearkeepers, a drummer, and even someone who claims..'to know'. Yesterday was the longest day of light for all seasons. Today is my birthday, 18 no less - a perfect day for giving special gifts - and I am determined to get this gift done to give to my Master.

The tawny hide that I found in the overstuffed supply wagon was still so supple and tender I couldn't help but stroke it along my cheek. The scent is rich and full, though not overpowering. The piece itself is small, perhaps taken from a fawn. It would hardly make any kind of clothing, except for the gloves I decided on. I guessed at the size, making it larger than my own tinier version. The stitches were tiny, and the seam thin, but I still had the excess fabric of hem on the outside of the glove instead of inside. The palms were thick, padded for a little extra comfort. The wrists could be drawn tighter with a small loop of leather strip. And finally, the fingers. They had no tips, just the casing for the fingers up to the first knuckle, exposing the ends of His fingers. Some parts of the body are meant to be protected, others, are meant to feel.

Cause and Effect

I get drunk on Him. He is an intoxicating elixir of scents and being that stirs my blood and reactions that I have no control over. I melt internally, with a thrumming ecstasy vibrating to crescendos of promise that draw me in ever closer. My smitten delight has grown into a bloom of hopefulness and need, decorating my skin with it's tell tale signs.

And all this - just by seeing Him.

I suppose the price of such reactions, coupled with the knowledge gifted in moments of observation and interaction, infuses a sense of awareness into the mix. It is not difficult to tell when Brave Warrior Fonce is introspective, quiet, lost in thoughts and places most of us do not see. I can sometimes pluck a sense of irritation from the surrounding air, or a brewing anger, or even frustration. This night, the faint scent of paga that clung to Him was ... to my feelers... a perfect mask for something else that radiated and alternately heated and cooled the air.

I thought the close proximity of the Artisan to be a nice torment, a pleasurable comfort. It confused me a bit that what kept getting exchanged seemed more painful than tender, more heart breaking than compelling. Much was going on around us. Red was trying to get me to eat meat. People were coming and going. Life would not stop though I desperately wanted it to. I wanted...

to make it better.

I would have done anything, and truly all those anythings kept springing through my mind. Ideas that soothed, some that simply acted as an open vessel, and even the taunting idea of a physical release for all that was pent up and brewing inside. His idea of 'anything' was departure. My heart fluttered after Him, with the hope that someday I 'can' make a difference. My mind stayed put, suspiciously examining all around me trying to seek out the source of my Master's discontent.

Blessings

"Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together."
(Anais Nin)

I was all of five or six years old and Yama was scolding me with a high pitched voice and an accusatory tone to her voice. Tears, warm and salty, bled over my cheeks and I had rubbed them away until my face hurt. I had lost my amulet, my beautiful amulet, and Yama was beside herself that I could be so careless. I kept trying to tell her something, through the deep sobs that seemed torn from my stomach, making my sentences break up into little pieces of words. I knew I hadn't lost it, but I couldn't remember where I had put it. I was trying so hard to grasp that little bit of knowledge. Of something that was out there and I just could not touch it.

I ran out of the ranch house, my legs growing long beneath my skirt, exposing my ankles and calves. Yama ran after me and was soon joined by Uncle Dray. I ran toward the brush and tangled growth near the stream, pressing my palms against my cheeks over and over again. I was ten now, confidently racing along the stream bed, jumping from flat stones to the other side and darting through grass that was at least as tall as I was. I stumbled over a rise in the mossy grass and fell to my knees.

I heard Yama and Uncle Dray finally catching up behind me. I was out of breath, taking in damp air through shaking lips. Teardrops were cold against my jaw and left a small trail against my shirt. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand and the misty air cleared and I saw him there. I was fifteen, and I realized my hair was untidy and loose in my braid. Yama pressed a hand to my shoulder as all three of us stared and I finally remembered. My finger pointed and I triumphantly proclaimed that I gave my amulet to Him.

Yama asked why and I said that He needed it. Uncle Dray laughed, putting his large hand atop my shoulder, and told me that it didn't seem to be doing much good. He was large like a bosk bull, dark as night and glowing with a light of fire that should have singed me but didn't. He was beautiful, wrapping my heart with a firm grip and stirring a passion inside me that dried the tears on my cheeks with the warmth. Around him were a million flower petals, all tinged with crimson, and they seemed to hold all the emptiness and pain in the world.

I crept away from Yama and Uncle Dray, feeling all the tears turn from those of fear to those of hope. I scooped up a handful of petals and when I glanced down my tears mingled and the first of a pale white flower was born. I simply said..

blessings work in mysterious ways.

When I woke, I was almost eighteen and I knew someone needed my help.

What dreams are made of.

It had been a rapid fire command, the kind you don't stop to think about very much, you just get moving on. "Gather any of Seveya's thinks from the wagon and take them to Oren's wagon". I turned and hurried toward Master's grouping of wagons and started tearing through everything I could find. The skirt the Artisan had mentioned working on, some ribbons, boots, and dinner that was steamy hot over the fire still.

Then I realized, I had no idea who Oren was, or where their wagons were either.

When I finally did arrive, it was as if the entire world had scattered and left only Master, Seveya and an older woman. Master looked as if he had taken out the world all by Himself, and the woman, while looking decidedly less so certainly had a way with Master.

That night I was a privileged guest, granted a chance to help, a chance to learn, and a chance to see. I left that evening feeling an anger for another I don't think I have ever tasted in my life. It would have been easier if the slights had been against me, I think. But they were not, and I would have a hard time not feeling the red hot of my feelings when I saw the Ubar over the next days. I also left that evening feeling the boost and energy of love and caring.

I spoke with Dee several days later, telling her of all the wonderful things that had been going on. The less than wonderful was relayed in less detail, crafted to preserve that which was private. She had chuckled when I spoke of the things that dreams are made of, and asked me ...is that really what you think dreams are made of?

Could I look any more 'dreamy' as I answered her? Yes, yes, a hundred thousand times yes. Two people who can barely stand to be apart, and when they are close the air bursts into sparks of passionate, lust tinged, happy, breathless moments. Where each holds the other's hearts so tenderly. Where the future is visible in their eyes and they would each fight the entire world just so the other could soar with success and purpose.

I looked at Dee and said...Yes..this is what my dreams are made of.

I promise

You're never gonna be alone
From this moment on
If you ever feel like letting go
I won't let you fall
You're never gonna be alone
I'll hold you till the hurt is gone.

And now as long as I can
I'm holding on with both hands
Cause forever I believe
That there's nothing I could need but you
So if I haven't yet,
I've gotta let you know

You're never gonna be alone
From this moment on
If you ever feel like letting go
I won't let you fall
When all hope is gone
I know that you can carry on
We're gonna take the world on
I'll hold you till the hurt is gone.

You've gotta live every single day
Like it's the only one
What if tomorrow never comes
Don't let it slip away, could be our only one
You know it's only just begun
Every single day, may be our only one
What if tomorrow never comes
Tomorrow never comes.
.........

You're never gonna be alone
From this moment on
If you ever feel like letting go
I won't let you fall
When all hope is gone
I know that you can carry on
We're gonna take the world on
I'll hold you till the hurt is gone.

I'm gonna be there all of the way
I won't be missing one more day
I'm gonna be there all of the way
I won't be missing one more day.
(Nickelback)

Freedom

Master Fonce suddenly started detailing, out loud, a plan. It involved returning Seveya to her status as a free woman. I don't know if all the speaking out loud enabled Him to make that decision, which sometimes it does, or if everything just fell into place. There was a slight possibility that I got Him worked up by offering for all His slaves to have His babies. He had a plan, and He was determined and anxious to get it into place.

I just listened, adding in a thought here and there. I had made no judgment on the whys that had brought the Artisan to submit. After all, I had done the same thing, in a sense. I knew her situation was far more convoluted than mine, and further, I had only to face the man that I based everything on. Perhaps it was the situation with the Uncle that had brought it about, or perhaps it was something with Master Fonce. Some day, I would ask her about it. Just for my own curiosity.

For now, I was all wrapped up in doing what I could to help make this happen as smoothly as possible. Seveya was to braid her hair, and I suddenly recalled a brush and comb set I had found in the overstuffed supply wagon of Master Fonce. When I had found it, I immediately put it aside, tucked away in a spot not easily seen, but where I could get my hands on it quickly. I had intended to ask Him if we could have them...us slaves. There was not much in the way of good grooming items in the slave wagon and these, made from fine bone and carved into a free flying herlit would be something very special. Now they were the small contribution I could make to helping.

As soon as the details were put into order, at least an order that Master Fonce deemed acceptable, He strode off in search of the Ubar. He left Seveya with a tender kiss, and me with a taste of envy. I helped Sev find her things and make herself presentable for an Ubar, though when her fingers touched upon the ribbon around her neck I felt all that emotion stir inside me once more. I went to get her a spare windscarf, something she could tie around her neck without having to remove what - if it were me - would be too precious to remove. I made a promise to take her tunic to her as well.

We were stuck together, she and I, but it wasn't such a bad thing. We were two women with like minded hearts and it was nice to be her comfort while she waited. I had all the faith and belief in the world in Master... it was just waiting for Him to find Ay that was taking so long.

She had told me that she saw how I pleased Him, which had me smile deeply. We don't always see what effects we have on another when we are smack in the middle of things. I shared that I could see emotions in Him that she inspired, things He just couldn't admit to yet. It was girl talk, plain and simple. A moment where we shared good thoughts, good things, laughter and passionate understanding. And where I realized I know a bit more about my Master than I had thought.

You Touched Me

He said I touched Him. For a dreamy eyed girl with stars in her eyes who had just been set aloft into the clouds of adoration and ecstatic feelings, this sent me in a spectrum of directions that had no endings in sight. I wanted to know how and why. He explained that it was because, in the face of other options, in the face of jealousy, I saw something positive about another and I offered it to Him. Something - I could have let jealousy cloud.

There is a part of me that examined all that had occurred, with a little voice adding..I did that? I reasoned, I have known from the start that I am merely a part to a whole. I have even at times felt like the luckiest house guest of an incredible man. Perhaps it is these things that shape my own vision. Perhaps it is that He has already taught me that I can not ever envision how fantastic my future can be. Had I ever expected that running for my life from those horrible Paravaci could bring me this? No. Perhaps it is that what I want for Him, tends to supersede what I dream of for myself. All I do know is that I want to be a part of His dreams.

Though I agreed, I would willingly have His fat babies if He wanted.

He told me, as He has before, that He did not think He was destined to be given fat Tuchuk babies. My heart swells with the emotions this tenders. It makes me sad to think that such a wonderful Man could never taste such a blessing. And I realized something in that moment...

If He didn't actually hold those dreams, if they didn't matter, if they weren't vital and important and held with twisted hope still...He would never notice when those dreams misfired.

It was about this time that the Artisan awoke, and what followed touched me more than words can say. We do not always learn of what a person is capable of by how we ourselves are treated, but often, what is possible, is exposed in how others are treated. Caring and concern and relief seemed a flood that washed over me from Master Fonce as He drew the Artisan into His arms. His tenderness was a gentle balm with no minty aftertaste. The emotions that Sev radiated, unable to be dimmed by physical aches or emotional wounds were a light that comforted His heart. I was so enraptured to have spent this time with Him, more time than I ever had in all my life that I easily moved aside to watch them.

Yamka arrived and I watched as He fought to preserve all that He believed the Artisan Sev to be. All that He believed her capable of. He held her up with such regard and Yamka embraced them both. Through the eyes of Master Fonce, the beauty of the woman Seveya was given to her friend, Yamka. I am sure it wasn't the easiest of things for Yamka to face, but who could minimize such a strong faith exhibited by Brave Warrior Fonce?

In that afternoon I was touched. Touched by the compassion and passion that many were capable of. I was touched by the boyish tenderness that lived in Master Fonce. I was touched by the conviction of Seveya. I was touched by the welcome of Yamika. I was touched by my Hero's logic, and unerring protection. I would come to realize that I was touched, too, by how little this has been returned to my Master.

Meeting jealousy

He started off by asking me if I was jealous. When Master asks me questions it causes little bursts of inward thought where I must actually think and sort through to find the answer. The same holds true with a good deal of His conversation. I rarely part from Him without a wealth of thinking and pondering going on, and it often continues for quite some time. I like that about it. I think that is what engaged me from the first, after the initial blush of pure crush. I am likewise inspired to do the same. I want to ask things that make Him think, things that show me more of...Him.

When He asked me if I was jealous, I wasn't immediately sure what He spoke of. It was the new slave passed out on His couch that He meant, and this was where I had to dig in and ponder. I was too damned happy just being with Him to even think about anything else. He had brought other slaves home before, and hadn't asked me that. Was this something special? I asked Him if that meant He didn't want me, and He explained that what was between us was determined by us. If it had been the other, I surmised, I probably would have been jealous.

As we spoke, the content reached in and wrapped around my heart. I could see He was torn between our conversation and the 'everything else' that was going on. I wanted to hold Him and console Him and let Him know I was there ..for Him. With my hand to His heart I swore that I wanted no other to catch me and as long as that opportunity hadn't changed...which made me giddy with relief...I wasn't jealous.
Yet.

As if something was allowed free, the conversation shifted. He confessed He didn't know how He felt about her, Sev, but was possessive of what she had given Him. I could feel the emotions in the air around us, I watched as His thoughts roamed and He gave them voice. His need to find the Ubar was a tangible urgency thrumming through His veins. The burning question of games and power plays behind actions taking root and becoming a need to know. I confessed my own woman's intuition, saying I thought the Artisan's motives calculated for a better purpose.

The further we discussed it, the more certain He was with the need to find Ay. At the same time, He would shrug off the implications. I watched the dance of feelings getting tucked into the chest while logical thinking kept trying to take over. I felt the passion that bubbled inside, contained only by His rigid set of codes. Twisting among the words was that need...that need for assurance...of a woman's honest desire to have Him in her life.

So I asked Him if He was the sort of man that liked a jealous woman at His feet. Inside I was wondering if this was what assured Him of a woman's feelings. I was relieved to hear that the green eyed monster is not a welcome visitor, though He sought passion. I laid my feelings at His feet once more, letting Him dissect their nature. Passion, jealousy, a starry eyed smitten girl. All I knew is that I would fight anything that threatened His happiness, or my heart's need to be with Him. He left that path open for me to sort out for myself, expressing that as long as I was not fighting Him or myself, I was fine. This was one of those things I would have to think about for a long time, so with the need for more information I asked if I ..fought Him. He said with jealousy I could. There is that word again. A word that feels odd. I wonder if it is a learned response or an expected one. He seems to know much more about jealousy than I do. And for what I am learning...it is dangerous ground. Sometimes He seems to know things He doesn't realize...He knows.

Like about Seveya. I can feel how important she is to Him. He has spoken it and I can see it...in His movements, in everything that warms the air around Him. I told Him then, that I don't know how He feels about me. A little bit of humor peeked out when He admitted most do not. He did, however, bless me with the admittance that I bring Him comfort and pleasure. My heart did flip flops and I wore that like a crimson badge of honor on my own cheeks. Tuchuk Warriors are not the only ones who wear pride on their faces.

I held on to the faith that as we grew to know one another there would be more wonderful things. I can't deny I wouldn't love to see a wealth of emotions fluttering over His features, spilling into the air around us when we are together. I felt so lucky to be there, to be sharing all this with Him. I felt so special.

He is such a giving man. He lifted me up to the sky with a playful smirk and the sweetest words ever when He told me I was special. Like Him, I laced my profound reactions, the heat that turned up degrees beneath my shift, the emotions that glossed my eyes behind a light tease. I thanked Him, then told Him He certainly knew how to make a girl feel wonderful. Oh Dee...wait until You hear this!

It was then that I realized the tip of conversation had swung away from all that He must be dealing with inside. I wanted Him to have a chance to feel...wonderful...I suppose. I wanted Him to taste His dreams again, just as He was filling mine with the fruit of delight. I spoke of Seveya, and how I really thought she was the one to give Him fat Tuchuk babies. I don't know much about my Master yet. I don't know all His family or His friends. I don't know if He and Seveya grew up together, played in the dirt as children, chased after life in parallel space. I don't know who He has known, or what their relationships have been. He had a very complete life before I ran into Him, and like everything else, I am just learning it.

I have learned who seems to touch Him inside. Who brings out the ease and smiles, if only through my briefest of encounters with Him. Each time I have run into He and Seveya, something intense has been going on. Something warm heats the air. And something flames inside of Him. There is something delicious with Asria and Lei as well, something she draws out of Him - that protective possessiveness. But that one day when I was held spellbound beneath the wagon listening, I felt the sizzle of future in the air when He spoke to Seveya. A closeness and ease of which I am a bit envious, and the spark that would flame between them.

He wasn't sure how bright that spark might actually be, He just knew He wasn't willing to give up what He had found with her. I made a comment...that the spark was what dreams are made of. I mean...isn't it? Isn't that what we look for in relationships? Something that draws us in over and over? He jumped on that, wanted to tear it apart and test my words. He wanted to know if I truly believed that what I saw was what dreams are made of. He made me pause and think, though not in test of my heart's feelings. I carefully explained that yes, I did believe that it was. I just also felt He had the power to snuff out the spark.

And then He mentioned jealousy...again.

Fate

“Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a divine purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: That we are here for the sake of others...for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day, I realize how much my outer and inner life is built upon the labors of people, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received.”
(Albert Einstein)

Fate snuck under the wagon flaps and tapped me on the shoulder this morning. Some will call it circumstance, logically ticking off the reasons of why and how, but I believe in something stronger than logic and reason. I believe in chance. I believe in fate and stepping through open (and sometimes closed) doors and following a song that hums in my head.

Master Brave Warrior Fonce sat on the steps of His wagon this morning. It is very rare that we are both in this place at the same time, and all the excitement and eagerness and happiness to see Him was a palpable pulse through my veins. I had traded dung picking with Dee, staying instead to fix a weak broth that was just warming up to a simmer when I spotted Him. He was working a few pieces of leather through His hands, hands that I would study now and again. I had chosen to stay around the wagons since I had found a surprise inside that morning. The Artisan Seveya, wounded and lost to sleep or something less pleasant. It became very apparent this was also why Master was around the wagons this morning.

I settled at His feet, feeling the harshness of the wood beneath my knees for just a brief moment. My first question was as to how He was feeling. He was using both arms and hands, which seemed an improvement, and I was more than happy to hear that He was getting better. I next asked about the Artisan and He told me the story. He told it from a distance of sorts, basic details in answer to my questions, stirring up more questions that competed for the chance to be asked. He continued to work the leather as He spoke, letting me pick and choose where those questions took me. When He mentioned issues with her Uncle, a sudden memory sparked...Karvek's features visible in firelight in the midst of a scuffle.

I asked Him if He would react in the same way if a woman of His family submitted. Would He take it personally like the Artisan's Uncle did? I wanted to know what feelings inspired these actions, compare it to how my own family might have reacted had they known, and I wanted to know how my Master felt about it all. He agreed that He would feel it personally, but that no one would ever know it, nor see it. The woman would be dead to Him, but that new person might in time be known to Him. I had to admire His open mind. At first I was a bit taken back by the finality of death, until I realized He spoke of the place, the relationship, the stature of the woman. She would no longer be a sister, cousin, or aunt. Yet, He would see them as they found their hearts to become.

He explained that He understood a woman's need for love, acceptance, and her weaknesses. Her potential to be a slave for a man she loves. I blushed and added the potential is there even for a woman following her heart's hope to remain with a man she wants to..needs to..know more of. There is something underlying here, something unspoken in the ribbons of the spoken that I have not yet unscrambled. It tickles at my mind when I think of it, but I have yet to put those feelings into a place I can understand.

I wanted to know where He put all theses emotions. I have seen Him only once, tangle with another. I have felt His grumpiness, His brooding, but not His open fury. I knew He must be dealing with a whole slew of thoughts at this point. The simple fact that He was here told me that much. The rigid composure underscored it. I asked if it all went into working the leather. Where -do- men learn to put all that pain and fear and hurt and joy and delight? I am a woman, I cry. It comes when everything boils up and needs let go. It often leaves me empty, sometimes it deepens every feeling all the more intently. My Master tucks His away, hides them, locks them into a chest. I wonder if they ever ease for Him in that way, or if they ever get a chance to grow. I felt pleasantly touched that He could speak to me of such things.

By this point I realized, the leather was a focal point that kept Him grounded. I asked if He was angry about Karvek's actions and His answer proved once more to me that He is my Hero. It was not only His words, but His actions that showed me. He said He felt protective of His property. The care and concern were what I saw. I couldn't imagine anyone being under better protection and I told Him so. As extra conviction to my own words I offered my aid, in whatever capacity it might be. I believed with all my heart there was none better to belong to, and I whole heartedly took up His cause as my own.

Then He asked me a question.

Master's hands

Master's hands are strong hands. His hands show the signs of His life, written in scars and blisters, calluses and ragged edges. I studied His hands as they worked through a strip of leather, learning the stories they told, the language they spoke without the need for words.

There had been a man on the ranch with hands that others liked to tease about. His hands were soft, smooth, marred only by the inks he used to keep track of expenses and inventory. Other men chided him about dirtying his hands when there was work to be done. I had never paid much attention to it, but that was the summer that Etta made fun of my hands. My hands are short, stubby, browned from days outdoors. That was the year I had started cooking in earnest and small scars mingled with the burn of the hand on some part of my arms and digits. I had never looked at them before in the light of touchability, and Etta informed me they were lacking.

I have thought my hands still...'lacking'. They are still brown, and they have not gained delicacy or softness in my time here. Blisters betray the work I do, nicks and cuts tell of cooking and sewing, redness scream of laundry, dishes, cleaning and all things requiring water. I have not offered my hands with a flourish of intention, drawing them back before the unsightly bruises and marks could be spotted.

Today I was proud of the battle worn hands of Master. I saw their strength, their vulnerability, their capability. I was proud of them, and in turn, felt my own comfort grow with the hands I offer. I would come to learn more of the hands that I admired over the next days. I came to cherish every bit of personality His hands would offer, knowing the precise edge that would capture my hair or the rough edge that would scratch my skin was a well earned badge of courage and compassion. I would discover...there is such tenderness beneath that hard and coarse covering. The protection of..my Master's hands.

Moonlight Sonata

This morning I woke on the wrong side of the sleeping furs. I felt...grumpy. Nothing worked right and I had overslept on top of it all. The furs had been too warm, but as soon as I stepped from the layers, I felt chilled all over. I felt myself grumbling, if not audibly, inwardly as I finally made it to the platform and the start of my day.

The world looked like some great artist in the Sky had decided to start all over with the sketch of the world. Everything looked completely drained of color, replaced instead with a variety of shades of gray. Steel and iron, charcoal and pewter, and bright spots of silver. My mood matched the day I was surprised to see.

Damp clumps of dung rolled into soggy sacks while I kept having to pause and stretch my fingers. My head thrummed, all the way down to the roots of my hair. My eyes felt as if I had been staring at the Central Fire in a dust storm all day, except there was neither.

My day grew, as I slogged through the chores and tasks that normally gave me inspiration and delight and purpose of some sort. Two baskets of laundry ...one of Mistress Asria's and one of Master's were laying on the grass drying in the smoke puff wisps of air. I had decided to wash my shift, thinking a fresh garment might perk up the spirits.

I lay down, just for a little while, to wait while everything dried. I sneezed several times while finding the cradle of grass to conform to my liking. My nose was running, my head felt stuffed with socks, and I finally realized...I was..sick.

I woke to the slivers of shimmering moon above, hanging in a clear sapphire sky. I had dreamt of Yama in a big barrel of soup, Uncle Dray kept building a fire right under my feet, Etta kept peeking around the wagon flaps to see me and my Master held me against His thigh where the leather creased and wrinkled my cheek.

I hurried to gather up the laundry and deliver the baskets, and then realized I had completely forgotten to put on my shift. I tugged it over my head, feeling the dampness still attached to the weave of fabric. It clung in folds over my body and rippled only at the very edges. The basket for Mistress Asria was quietly presented to her wagon platform, and I continued my journey back to Master's wagon, feeling not at all rested.

Passing through the main camp, I gave a quick glance but nothing more. I was already late, past the time Master told me to be ..home. My head was oddly weighted and my beautiful bells rang more often than I ever recalled before. I saw a few gathered around the painful orange glow of fire. A few men scrambling and tussling and grabbing at each other. It wasn't..that ..uncommon...to see men spar and scuffle. I got a glimpse of just one as I turned to walk past the end of a wagon - the face of Seveya's Uncle.

I slept then, and while it was deep enough to bring such a wildness of dreams that nothing clung to me in the morning, it was restless enough that I felt every floor board. I could smell the mustiness that clung to some part of the wagon canvas. I knew when a kaiila came too close to the wagons, and I could smell something...cooking. And I knew it was nothing I would ever eat. I slept, without even putting away the laundry or changing from my shift, never waking until the moonlight had once more given way to the rainbow in the sky.

Dancing on the Head of a Pin

Dee shared my glorious retelling of moments the next morning over a bathing ritual at the stream. While many of the slaves dabble in the crisp waves at a deep cleft in the stream bed, Dee, I and sometimes a few others prefer this cove we have found. The grass is thick and tall, much as if the clouds reach down with a fist and hold the land like a frothy curtain. Privacy is naturally afforded, but that is not what draws us with sweet beckon like a warm honey bread. The water here is warm and bubbly. It gurgles up from dark watery ripples, where the stream appears so deep we can not see the bottom. When the liquid drags across my arms and legs, I can feel the temperatures, as if cool water is marrying the warm and they have not yet mingled to lose themselves in a common taste. We shiver, dipping low to let the caress of warmth chase away the skin's response, our hair fanning out like a life source nourished by and nourishing our surroundings.

We are neither meditative or peaceful, joyful or enraged, playful or mischievous. We are all these things, as the mood strikes and the day takes us. This morning it was basking in the heat of another blissful day on the plains, telling tales of rapture at the fingertips of those who pull our strings. Such a delicious dance to perform. My smitten had taken on a new skill and now had shades of enraptured to dress in. Dee offered a hint of pride in my new way of smiling, for she took credit for all that teaching. Then she offered me a few pointers and tips to add to my repertoire.

Eager to try them out, I headed toward the main fires that evening. There is always the hope that Brave Warrior Master will be relaxing near the heat of sparkling flames. It is a hunger, desire, longing, yearning, continuous thought that throbs in every crevice and corner of my very being. Seeing Him, fuels it. Disappointment in His absence - fuels it. Every moment in between - fuels it.

A man lingered near a wagon angled toward the main fire clearing. His shoulder pressed against the corner of platform, and dirty blonde hair lashed the boards beside Him. I knelt with my usual anxiousness, for I still feel a bit awkward at times. I never quite know where to put my knees. I was aware of my positioning before - before I knew what ecstasy could be found in the arms of a man. I am aware of the implied offering now, and the implications of such an offering and how very vulnerable it will make me feel before a man. Sweet skies, I simply knelt, tendering the service of a lovely woman at his feet.

I wished my Master was there. I tried to envision myself through His eyes. I wanted Him to see the delicate curve of my spine, the forward tip of my hip bones, the way my hair fluttered over my shoulders as if His hands swept through each strand. I felt my Master's eyes roam over the shivering shift that I wore, and the trace of reaction to my skin. I wanted to be beautiful for Him, and assure Him that I could be a part of His life among His friends and family. I wanted Him to see me, to breathe in the pride of owning - me. There is this delicious bonus in all of this, for the smile on the one I am kneeling before is a treasure to pad my silver linings with. I wanted that smile on my Master's face.

The blonde haired man had blue green eyes and a hint of smile tucked between the stubble of beard. With the formalities of offers and declines now a part of history, it turned to conversation and questions. People are fascinating creatures, and once we are both passed my nervous proposals, I am sometimes treated to a bit of getting to know these people that I am engaging with. There are times, as there was today, where I am asked who owns me. There are times where I am advised to inform my owner of pleasure in my service. That did not happen today. I have yet to run back and inform Master Fonce of the notches in my belt on the pleasure and displeasure side. It was not dissatisfaction that was laid at my feet this time, but interest. Thoughts spoken out loud of my usefulness, ideas given breath of places and positions I might satisfactorily fill. Wonder at the investment in such a woman as...me.

It scares the crap out of me.

Shades of Happiness

Today is one of the best days of my life. I know my pages have many days of happiness within them, like layers of clouds atop one another reaching up through the cobalt blue of a perfect sky. But I am all right with that. Joy building upon delight building upon rapture.

Evening was coming, and with it, the promise of relaxation and friendship. I had wandered through the Harigga in hopes of finding friendly and familiar faces. It is not a long hike down to the stream, and finding the main fire clearing quiet, I had continued on toward the cooler air and the usual gathering spot. My hopes were rewarded, for amidst those people I recognized, that dark embodiment of my happiness was resting on the matted grass. Mindful of His injuries, and a bit cautious of invading His personal space - especially since Cana was there and it became so fresh in my mind - I headed toward Him with careful steps. I can not stop the smile from filling my face with muscle aching wideness. But that was only the start.

An open palm awaited me, like a beacon of welcome, and I took to it like a moth to a flame. The silent gesture set my heart to fluttering, like it was a private conversation, but that was only the start. I could talk this way...all night. And tomorrow too. His fingers, rough at the edges, enough to remind me He is all man, swept across my cheek and found purchase in my hair. If I closed my eyes I was back in the stream that one day when I first learned of the hunger and desire that lived within me, and was surely made in His name.

He moves slowly, carefully, though His laughter is unhindered, so I know He is healing well. That makes me so happy. But that was only the start. I was pressed to His thigh, while His fingers practiced conversation through my hair. I have always loved to have my hair played with. I blush now thinking how different it is under His touch. The words tendered and the feelings evoked stir inside my blood like the heat He generates.

I do not know if the look in my eyes reached Him. I do not know if the sounds crafted by His hand and drawn from me spoke to Him. I hope He heard my heart. I hope He knows how happy He made me. I hope He realizes what He taught me this evening. I have never been held in such a way and I would have stayed there forever, much like I would linger a lifetime in His arms. My dreams have been enriched beyond anything I could have ever imagined. I knew that forever I would seek Him. I will learn Him by osmosis. I will follow whatever path He takes me on. I want every facet of life He has within Him. From the ecstasy to the frightening. I want to give back to Him every pleasure a thousand times over. And that is just the start.

Three Turians and a Magpie

I have spent some time down at the stream with slaves. Many of them are new, recently acquired women from the stakes of Turia, prizes to the victorious Tuchuk. I feel a bit of kinship with them, in that I am still wandering through the haze of a new life myself in ways. Just as there are an infinite amount of types of women, there are likewise, just as many reactions to their new found status as slaves - and the relationships with their owners as well. I don't know most of their names. If we even get to exchanging names, remembering them is not the easiest of things for me. Though I will say, some men have a sick sense of humor.

I had a basket with me, and I was filling it with stones. Small glittering smooth ones that seemed to light up Red's eyes, and larger stones that would cover my palm. There was a pale skinned brown eyed girl next to me, washing out a large amount of cloth and blankets. Amidst a volley of teasing, I could see her jaw tensing and the whitening of skin around her mouth as it pressed tightly. She suddenly became vocal, spilling out a venom filled diatribe proclaiming herself happy to do anything to be free of her owner's miserable wagons and filthy clutches. Her eye sparked with a golden fire that was almost shocking in intensity and she rose quickly to leave us at the stream gaping.

The second girl shivered as she dunked wash into the chill of the stream water, holding it down and letting the clear liquid pool around her elbows. There was fear in her voice when she spoke. The fear was a key to her survival, and it compelled her explicit obedience and surrender.
The third had settled easily into her status, it would seem. Blue green eyes smiled when she spoke of her Master, saying He was delighted with His consequent win, affectionately called His pet already. Her cheeks flushed softly, and her lines softened, much as if she already leaned in enchantment against his thigh.

We had just started talking when three older boys drove their kaiila through the stream, hellbent on dousing us all with an early bath. We all scattered after that, and I hoisted up the now heavy basket to take my treasure back home. My shift would need washing, as would the silvery strip of ribbon that gathered up the fraying neckline of the dress I wore, compliments of mud splatter.

I was slowly undressing as I walked back, slipping the mottled gray of ribbon free from the edging around my neck when a noisy chattering filling the air and I looked up to watch a marvelous black bird swooping through the air. It had iridescent blue black plumage and a broad white patch on it's chest, much like a shield. My thoughts of relationships, connections, and a particular Brave Warrior were given over to the free glide of wings capturing the air. I could see it all the way back to Master's wagons, and even paused at the fire pit to ask what it was doing.
Not expecting an answer, the surprise was on me when it dove repeatedly in my direction. I panicked, and I am pretty sure the sleen contentedly sleeping in the cool shade of the wagon bed will not forgive my screeching for a long time. Rocks spilled everywhere, and not only did that scavenger manage to snatch up the most glittery one, but it got my ribbon on top of it. I was...pissed.

Silver and Red

I was tired, though not so much physically drained as at a completion point where what I wanted was to sit and relax and maybe socialize a little. Since our arrival at the Southern Camp, for however long we might actually stay put, I had been busy like the rest getting things settled and unpacked and arranged. These might not actually be my wagons, but I treat them as if they are my own - they are my home - and I fuss a little extra, move a few things, and putter until the feelings I get are of congeniality and welcome. A visitor could walk into any of Master's wagons, find a comfortable area to sit in, and a tidy friendly atmosphere. The air is always fresh and clean, and often has a delicious scent to it. I have Red to thank for that, for she seems to have a way with mixing things to smell wonderful.

It is nice to have another to share the chores with. At first I wasn't sure about it, just how we all would work together, but there is plenty to do and we accomplish it without much incident. If Master should ever want those vulo, or the verr that have been offered - things that would make His wagons all the more 'lived in' - I think we would handle it well.

Yamka had asked me to find her some ribbons in the supply wagons. I thought that would be a simple task, though I wasn't sure how many ribbons I might actually find. It proved to be more difficult than I imagined, as my first exploration of the main camp supply wagons didn't have any ribbons at all in plain sight. I returned the next day with a little more time on my hands, and the idea to ask Seveya about her ribbon supply if all else failed.

The inside of the supply wagons are hot and stuffy. The smoke hole is not fully open, and no fire pleasantly dries or scents the dusty air. I imagine the camp slaves air them out now and again, for while it is crammed full, it is not dank or musty. I spent ahns pulling things out of place and searching through trunks and crates, barrels and boxes and baskets. Sweat dripped down beneath my shift and when I took a step outside I was met with blinding light as my eyes tried to adjust. I spent a good deal of time simply reorganizing, putting things together according to intended use instead of by color or most recent acquisition. By the time I was done, after two full afternoons, I had two bundles of ribbons to leave for Mistress Yamka. I took a few for use at Master's wagons as well. One, I would use pieces of for His...boots.

When His presence has been felt around the wagons again, I find comfort in that. At night, I rest for a while, then rise to make sure all the wagons are secure. It is at that time that I search Master's platform for His boots. He's a tidy man, and either leaves them outside, or close to the exit. I guess He doesn't wish to track the day through His rugs and furs. Once, He was so restless, I slipped inside and lay a hand to the middle of His back, rubbing lightly. He didn't waken, but calmed beneath the warmth of my hand. The warmth of my hand, however, must seem like a chilled cloth, for His heat is like a fire burning.

Sometimes His boots tell a story, complete with grass and mud and scuff marks. Other times, they seem miraculously clean. Some night I am going to wake Red and have her sit with me. We can create tales of where the boots have been today. In an effort to let Him know He is...noticed...I have been leaving things inside. Once, it was a piece of the ribbon I took from the supply wagon. A silvery gray, it reminded me of the moons and stars. When the pale light reflected off one side, it sent shimmering rainbows to dance along the silver surface. The other was a velveteen darkness that kept the midnight sky in the mind's eye. I had tied a few beads from the slave wagon on the length, and tucked it inside the boot, making it hard to miss. Another night, the top loop of the boot pull was tied up with a knot of silver ribbon, made just for the fingers to find.

Typically, I was not thinking of such surprises when I ran into Master at the stream. He was relaxing with a few others, and I approached without my full out enthusiasm, just a brush of cheek in greeting. It still earned me a low growl, which I didn't quite figure out until later. After...He left. Mistress Cana told me a few things that left me so very embarrassed. Red in the face was a perfect place to be as I settled onto the stream bank with Red, herself. I let her talk, for my mind was twisting and twirling in thought. She told me of her family, a larger family than I realized she had. And then anger and sorrow started spilling out around on the ground like displaced raindrops. The only thing Red wanted was more stones, and since my other methods of comfort weren't working, I went searching.