The colors black and white....and gray

Fluff twisted between the thumb and index finger, the verr wool fluff cupped in my palm, winding onto a spindle at my knee, as it has for years and will for years to come. I could do this with my eyes closed and, like knitting, it had this familiar constant that settled me. It brought my thoughts to a place where they could fall into slots of proper color and size and loom not so large and mixed up.

I studied the rolling ripples of the stream as it sought a path along it's journey. It didn't always take the easiest path, sometimes getting ripped and torn as it shuffled over the jagged edge of a rock. Water is resilient, repairing itself without a second thought, and down the road, years away - the water will have worn the rock to a smoothness.

Dee sat beside me, working long fronds of yellow green grass into a woven circle. Baskets were yet another thing I needed to work on, but for now I was trying to turn a large pile of wool into twisted strands. The heat on the edges of my ears had finally cooled; heat at first inspired by the Mistress dropping off more tufts of the verr coat.

"Have you used up all the other wool I gave You?"

"No, Mistress, not yet."

"It's all right. Your master only needs one pair of socks to wear this winter."

(Ew) "I'll...get working on it today, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress."

I knew this. I knew summer on the plains was filled with preparation for the days ahead. Rarely did we sit idle in the moonlit night. Something was always in our hands, being worked into a needed pot, a utensil, or a rug, or a thick coat.

The heat had returned with a fierce ease when Dee had erupted into a conversation of giggles. The subject had been the matter of love slaves, and Dee had gently reminded me that it was a rare moment indeed that someone - anyone - could just sit and relax and pamper themselves all day. She also said - with much authority - that red nails did not a love slave make. Then she started laughing, in the kind of way that is contagious and embarrassing but you are forced to start laughing too. I had chided her at the end of it all that my yarn knotted up and it was all her fault, then she showed me the miswoven grass and we started up again with all the happy sounds the air could swallow.

Dee asked then about Red, if I thought Red had found a place happily with Brave Warrior Master Fonce. I told her I didn't know, for I had not seen them together yet. That was my guidepost of sorts - seeing them together. Which made Dee chuckle and ask what people saw when I was with Master Fonce. That stumped me, and would continue to do so for quite some time. We are not often together, and usually there is some state of something or other going on at the time. Lately, the something or other has not been a pleasant aura around Him, though the camp gossip has been quite empty of any hint of what troubles Him. These last thoughts would all come into play much sooner than I realized, and if Dee and I musing brought it all about? Then I am going to work on more favorable outcomes.

When I had spun all of the fluff into slender twisted strands I returned to my home wagons. I had started another project - that of cleaning out the supply wagon - attempting to make a small area for us slaves to sleep in. Looking inside from the flaps, it didn't look like I had done much, but ahns had already been spent rearranging and repacking. Where a large crate might hold the remaining two of an item, they were packed into a smaller package, or joined items of like use in their large container. Nothing was thrown away, in case it was needed. Stacks of empty containers now filled the space at the entry, and eventually, they would be consolidated too.
Red and I sometimes slept out near the fire. In the misty weather, we curled beneath a wagon, and I know many slaves commonly sleep in such quarters. I hoped, if I could make the room, we would have the sanctuary of cover for the colder days ahead. I had just moved a box from one side to the other, when it toppled to the floor. Spilling from it's seams all over the floor was a nutmeg colored dust, and though I swept it up, it still left a stain of darkness on the wood. That is what sent me to the stream. A nutmeg stain.

Where, previously, the stream had laughed along with Dee and I, infusing the air with happy sounds, now the air was thick and laden and charged. Those charges pinged against each other, getting mired in the thick soup of tension that clung to a group of people on the banks, sparking in misfired adverse paths. In spotted my Master in the midst of it, and that swoop of delicious dreamy lightness carried me to His side. Red was there, saying...things. Crying. Running away, leaving behind the unhappy look of Master Fonce.

I was stunned by the things she said to Him, feeling this knot twist and tighten inside of me. What had He ever done but give us a safe and secure place to live? Why would she throw that back at Him in such a way? In later thinking I would wonder what breathed inside Red to prompt her to do such a thing, but that was not what I was thinking now. All I was thinking now was that I wanted to smooth away the rough edges that were tearing into Master.

I could have done a better job.

The best I could offer was my presence. It could not penetrate the thick fog charged with electrical emotions. I don't think I have ever been so immobilized. Perhaps a victim of my own confusion, as I struggled to make sense out of Red's unkind remarks, the wind swept all the jabs and retorts of others my way as well. I remained bogged in the swamp, neither sinking nor swimming. Even the light exchange with Mistress Sev, and the sudden appearance of night was not enough to wash the shroud from my shoulders.