I slept that first night beneath the wagon of the Artisan. Master had made it clear it was the choice of the Mistress if I was to sleep anywhere else, and I was too excited to think of other options. As soon as I found a suitable spot, it all hit me. There was no small cooking fire nearby to cozy up to like at Master's wagons. There was no half asleep sleen keeping watch over us. The heat of the day had acquiesced into a sweet cool breeze, but it was chilly in the dark and hidden beneath an unfamiliar place. And I missed Him. I wanted to be heating up His furs, and I wished I had let Him know that I would be tormented thinking about it all night.
Still, I was on an mission I felt very special about - one of serving someone so precious to the Man of my heart. I didn't want to disappoint Him with this. He does not seek me, nor ask much of me. I wanted Him to think of me as more than a filled dung sack, and a belled ...someone.
I saw Mistress Seveya very little, and my Master even less, and while I felt pretty good about leaving the Mistress to fetch water or gather dung, I still wanted to be available should she need me. When I returned that afternoon to the disheveled ribbons and sagging askew tunic flapping in the breeze, icy cold fear gripped my heart. I searched every hort of space in and outside of the wagon, even being silly enough to look in a trunk....like she might be stuffed in there somehow. As I finished the scouring of the area, I started to think perhaps Master came to get her, but no sooner had my shoulders relaxed from the tension tight uplift, than a slave wandered by and told me a little story.
Icy cold fear was still present, though it took on added dimensions. I was concerned the Mistress could be hurt, maybe enough to cause permanent damage. I was...admittedly..afraid that my Master would think I had failed her...and Him, and lost this wonderful person on top of it all. Along with fear, often comes anger, and this time was no different. Blistering hot in intensity, my fists clenched at my sides as I stomped off in search of the stupidest slave alive (not including myself). Her name had been mentioned... and I marched with increasing fury, spitting her name out to the wind. I snatched up branch from a tumble of brush on my way, intending to use the switch with intensity. And when I found her I started right in. My arm raised with the weapon held in a white knuckle grip. Her eyes widened in golden fear as I started my tirade about what sense it took to keep a free woman safe and healing. But as I started, as that switch caught in the air poised to rip into the tender flesh of the frightened woman...I realized.
She was simply being obedient. An obedient slave, caught between a rock and a hard place. Just following...directions. Her mind programmed to follow with utter simplicity...the will of the free.
My arm dropped, and so too did the switch, tangling into the blades of whispering grass. The fear was still present, and so was the anger...now a smoldering deadly red glow. My thoughts turned to the Mistress...questioning. What is it that makes people so determined to do exactly that which they are not supposed to? It is the thrill? The danger? The naughtiness? Is it ...her...knowing her own body best? Is she laughing in the face of Master's wishes? Is it an issue of control? Why wouldn't she just wait? I would have done - anything - for her.
Power Catch
Sunday, August 30, 2009
I wavered on a crest of razor sharp thoughts, my conscious and the inner workings of ideas that I did not fully comprehend taking turns coming and going. His eyes are beautiful, dark and deep with unspoken temptations swimming within. Sometimes they are written for a flashing moment at the corner of His eye, or in the slightest movement at the edge of His mouth. Sometimes, even in the steady rhythm of His heart.
My Master does not touch me often, and consequently each time He reaches for me I am lifted on a plain of effervescent bliss. On impulse, I lift and turn, trying to stay connected to the touch, as it winds through me like heat waves. Coherent thought is not always possible, but with the intense focus afforded by the elixir of emotions He provokes, eventually I am attuned to His world. Surprised at my brazen mental transgressions, I finally felt them subside, leaving a residual effect - that intense determination and willingness to exist in devotion. I feel even more beautiful, rich, and certain of every choice I have made. My future looms brilliant in a colorful world I am only just starting to taste.
I have found in my experience that people of such incredible character attract the same. Oh..I am certain that every eye finds something of attraction to the Brave Warrior Fonce. But what stays in His attraction is rich with the same precious ideals. Thus, it did not astound me as much that the Mistress Seveya had such a good heart. I was also privileged to know for myself the depths of her feelings for Master Fonce. Her pleasure in 'me' was a blessing - in itself and hand in hand due to my Master. Instinct and observations convinced me of the emotional commitment of my Master regarding the Artisan. All those things considered, I never expected what came next.
I was a bit surprised to have found myself watching over the Mistress Seveya. Emotional at times, I truly appreciated the pinpoint of focus afforded me by Master - to see to the Mistress' comfort - and...give Sev no reason to need to walk. We were two women in need of something - neither one definable and most likely would be comprised of many small things. I felt a gaping hole at the loss ofmy friend, Sev most likely would feel the loss of mobility. Wise man, that Master Fonce - stick two women together to let them battle out all those - issues.
I would see to the necessities...food, water and fuel. I would make myself available as much as possible when not tending to such chores. Those times when I could not be readily at Mistress Sev's wagon left me concerned, however. The Mistress was an adult, of course, and certainly capable of making choices and decisions, but I thought a little reminder might be nice. Strung from one railing to the next across the opening of platform that would lead down the steps, I tied a length of silver ribbon from the wealth I had found. The silken decoration was threaded through the arms of one of those beloved black tunics, and it dangled and swung in the day's breeze as if to say..."Wait, rest, heal"....
I couldn't let Master Fonce think He wasn't on our minds and in our hearts, so I tied little strips of silver ribbon to railings of wagons along a path from Sev's to Fonce's...connecting them visually, where they were already connected in the spirit and heart.
Salvation
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Mesmerizing affliction
Dangerous addiction
Enflamed with passionate twist
The closeness of Him brought me to my knees internally. Visions of acts, decadent and debase, paraded through my mind. I yearned to be thrown to the carpet of grass and consumed right then and there. Before the eyes of all the world. With every man and woman present a mere pattern to the tapestry of surroundings. Denial was a bittersweet torment that infused my senses with an intoxicating elixir bearing the name of my Master. The perfume of my misery was a slick sensation. I was shaken by the depth of His influence.
I had never felt like a Man in such a way. I had never felt myself so willing to surrender every action and reaction to His complete control. To dance in rapture to His slightest desire. To crawl, to beg, to prostrate myself in acquiescence. To soar in the devotion of ebeisance. I adored Him. I loved Him. I needed Him. My breath would cease without Him.
I begged to be cast upon His pyre.
If it takes my whole life I won’t break, I won’t bend
It’ll all be worth it, worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
And when the stars have all burned out
You’ll still be burning so bright
Cast me gently into morning for the night has been unkind
(Sara McLaughlin)
I was not..denied.
Dangerous addiction
Enflamed with passionate twist
The closeness of Him brought me to my knees internally. Visions of acts, decadent and debase, paraded through my mind. I yearned to be thrown to the carpet of grass and consumed right then and there. Before the eyes of all the world. With every man and woman present a mere pattern to the tapestry of surroundings. Denial was a bittersweet torment that infused my senses with an intoxicating elixir bearing the name of my Master. The perfume of my misery was a slick sensation. I was shaken by the depth of His influence.
I had never felt like a Man in such a way. I had never felt myself so willing to surrender every action and reaction to His complete control. To dance in rapture to His slightest desire. To crawl, to beg, to prostrate myself in acquiescence. To soar in the devotion of ebeisance. I adored Him. I loved Him. I needed Him. My breath would cease without Him.
I begged to be cast upon His pyre.
If it takes my whole life I won’t break, I won’t bend
It’ll all be worth it, worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
And when the stars have all burned out
You’ll still be burning so bright
Cast me gently into morning for the night has been unkind
(Sara McLaughlin)
I was not..denied.
Redemption
Monday, August 24, 2009
I can hardly remember the days that have passed. They have bent and blended into a picture like I made as a child, my hands thick with paint, palms sweeping back and forth across waste canvas. The colors smeared until they disappeared among themselves, so stuffed with pigment that nothing stood out alone. That was how I felt - so stuffed full of things no one particular thing could be sensed more than any other.
Tired was an understatement, though even that seemed a surreal state of mind more than a physical attribute. The influx of people heading for the greener hue of pasture was dwindling, and soon I would begin my journey to find my home. I knew I would not forget Aunt Connie, though her memory would remain shrouded in the haze of aftermath for some time to come.
Aunt Connee sat beside me on the platform winding gauzy cloth for bandages. We both were staring at the charred landscape, staring at it as if it was another world and we were just observers. She asked me if I wanted Him to come, and without another thought I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of tears fill the slits of lids. I admitted I had hoped He would come searching for me, but as soon as that left my heart and lips I added that I would never want Him to leave all that is precious to Him. His family, His men, His friends, the woman who makes His heart sing.
Torment. Wanting to be missed and looked for, just...for a moment of thought. And then I felt selfish. Saying it out loud seemed to unlock the vice like press of emotions that gripped my heart, and suddenly there were so many things I needed to share with Him, that finding Him just could not happen fast enough. Connee must have sensed it, for the next morning she sent me off without even letting me assist her with breakfast.
I didn't argue.
It took most of the day to make my way through the tangled haphazard arrangement of wagons. Eventually they became more orderly, settled in loose figurations of family and friends. I found the vulo wagon first, and the rest in quick succession. A smoky gray dimmed their colors and the acrid scent still clung to the canvas, but they were a beautiful sight to my eyes. It didn't take long then to find the main camp, and too, the cool fresh air that bathed the nearby stream. It would be here that my heart's hope would find both flight and home. There in the lush carpet of grass, with air fed by the song of voices...I found my Master and the Artisan.
It is the little things...really...that make all the difference in the world. It is the welcome in the depths of eyes, the tender touch to a cheek, the relief that seeps from every pore and fills the earth with happiness. It is interest and concern, and taking that extra step to say...I care. My cup overflowed tonight...filled with the compassion of my Master and His Seveya. It melted the numb, held the hole with Dee's name upon it, and bandaged my heart.
I am blessed.
Comfortably Numb
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Hello?
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?
Come on, Come on, Come on, now,
I hear you're feeling down.
I can ease your pain
Get you on your feet again.
Relax.
I'll need some information first.
Just the basic facts.
Can you show me where it hurts?
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child I had a fever
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I've got that feeling once again
I can't explain, you would not understand
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.
I have become comfortably numb...............
I lay against the generous shoulder of Aunt Connee. Her arm looped around me, squeezing now and again and only the sounds of our breathing acted as vocal conversation. My sounds were ragged, like a sputtering waterfall over jagged rocks. I still could not cry. Behind us, sleeping restlessly, lay the many that Connee had helped. I envisioned that this was something she did often.
I had run from the horror that my mind refused to comprehend. Stumbling through the thick pungent air as so many did, it was hard to tell if we were even running in the right direction. I tripped, dirt and rocks biting hard into my knees and one palm. The other hand crashed into a body, lifeless eyes imploring me to engage. I screamed, feeling an irrational fright that the body would keep me forever and take me to the depths of misery. My heart pumped so furiously against my ribcage, I hardly noticed being kicked as another raced by, nor the feeble voice that beseeched.."Help me".
The irony of the situation still haunts me - young and virile taken hostage by the dismal smoke, while a man many many years past his prime lived to struggle. His legs, ancient crippled appendages that could hardly bear his weight were his bane. He, himself, was light, and easy for me to help stand erect. I could not just leave him. Together we stepped forward, though now at a snail's pace. Eventually the air cleared enough so that I could see the stretch of wagons haphazardly parked all over the plains. The first we came upon was Aunt Connee's.
Aunt Connee is of the outer wagons. She lives among the poor, and the poor in spirit. Healers do not venture here often, and are usually only called for the most dire of circumstances. Aunt Connee ministered a blend of ancient healing practices with a generous amount of caring. Her name was whispered in gratitude by multitudes. I was one of them. She bandaged my wounds, stitched gashes in my thigh and simply held me, even when she was chastised for helping a slave. My shift was history, singed beyond ragged ribbons, reeking of smoke and devastation. I worked beside her throughout day and night, once more in that state of undress my Master had first found so pleasing. Everything brought Him to mind. He haunted me.
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown,
The dream is gone.
but I have become comfortably numb.
For as many days as the flight to safety occurred, I remained there helping Aunt Connee. Sometimes it was nothing more than the first offering of water to make the rest of the journey easier. Often, it was a field dressing of injuries so that the sick and wounded could continue on to find their loved ones. I searched endlessly for faces of those I knew, always hoping beyond hope to see my Master. At the end of the second day, reports started filtering back to us. We knew of the Ubar and Ubara, the heads of clans, and the proud strong and mighty. Those that survived, those that gave their lives for us, and those that we held in our most fervent hope and wishes for recovery. I finally heard that the second in command, the Haruspex clan head, was seen helping the others. I had no doubt...I knew my Hero would not rest until His family was safe.
But I still could not cry. So many had lost so much, so dear to them. Reason told me I lost a friend, a woman of my heart.. My heart remained frozen. My body simply obeyed the mechanical urges. I was empty. I was numb.
(Pink Floyd)
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?
Come on, Come on, Come on, now,
I hear you're feeling down.
I can ease your pain
Get you on your feet again.
Relax.
I'll need some information first.
Just the basic facts.
Can you show me where it hurts?
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child I had a fever
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I've got that feeling once again
I can't explain, you would not understand
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.
I have become comfortably numb...............
I lay against the generous shoulder of Aunt Connee. Her arm looped around me, squeezing now and again and only the sounds of our breathing acted as vocal conversation. My sounds were ragged, like a sputtering waterfall over jagged rocks. I still could not cry. Behind us, sleeping restlessly, lay the many that Connee had helped. I envisioned that this was something she did often.
I had run from the horror that my mind refused to comprehend. Stumbling through the thick pungent air as so many did, it was hard to tell if we were even running in the right direction. I tripped, dirt and rocks biting hard into my knees and one palm. The other hand crashed into a body, lifeless eyes imploring me to engage. I screamed, feeling an irrational fright that the body would keep me forever and take me to the depths of misery. My heart pumped so furiously against my ribcage, I hardly noticed being kicked as another raced by, nor the feeble voice that beseeched.."Help me".
The irony of the situation still haunts me - young and virile taken hostage by the dismal smoke, while a man many many years past his prime lived to struggle. His legs, ancient crippled appendages that could hardly bear his weight were his bane. He, himself, was light, and easy for me to help stand erect. I could not just leave him. Together we stepped forward, though now at a snail's pace. Eventually the air cleared enough so that I could see the stretch of wagons haphazardly parked all over the plains. The first we came upon was Aunt Connee's.
Aunt Connee is of the outer wagons. She lives among the poor, and the poor in spirit. Healers do not venture here often, and are usually only called for the most dire of circumstances. Aunt Connee ministered a blend of ancient healing practices with a generous amount of caring. Her name was whispered in gratitude by multitudes. I was one of them. She bandaged my wounds, stitched gashes in my thigh and simply held me, even when she was chastised for helping a slave. My shift was history, singed beyond ragged ribbons, reeking of smoke and devastation. I worked beside her throughout day and night, once more in that state of undress my Master had first found so pleasing. Everything brought Him to mind. He haunted me.
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown,
The dream is gone.
but I have become comfortably numb.
For as many days as the flight to safety occurred, I remained there helping Aunt Connee. Sometimes it was nothing more than the first offering of water to make the rest of the journey easier. Often, it was a field dressing of injuries so that the sick and wounded could continue on to find their loved ones. I searched endlessly for faces of those I knew, always hoping beyond hope to see my Master. At the end of the second day, reports started filtering back to us. We knew of the Ubar and Ubara, the heads of clans, and the proud strong and mighty. Those that survived, those that gave their lives for us, and those that we held in our most fervent hope and wishes for recovery. I finally heard that the second in command, the Haruspex clan head, was seen helping the others. I had no doubt...I knew my Hero would not rest until His family was safe.
But I still could not cry. So many had lost so much, so dear to them. Reason told me I lost a friend, a woman of my heart.. My heart remained frozen. My body simply obeyed the mechanical urges. I was empty. I was numb.
(Pink Floyd)
My best friend gave me the best advice
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less traveled by
That first step you take is the longest stride
If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
If today was your last day
Against the grain should be a way of life
What's worth the prize is always worth the fight
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try
So live like you'll never live it twice
Don't take the free ride in your own life
If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
Would you call old friends you never see?
Reminisce of memories
Would you forgive your enemies?
Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you finally fall in love
If today was your last day
If today was your last day
Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?
You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars
Regardless of who you are
So do whatever it takes
'Cause you can't rewind a moment in this life
Let nothin' stand in your way
Cause the hands of time are never on your side
If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
Would you call old friends you never see?
Reminisce of memories
Would you forgive your enemies?
Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you finally fall in love
If today was your last day
(Nickelback)
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less traveled by
That first step you take is the longest stride
If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
If today was your last day
Against the grain should be a way of life
What's worth the prize is always worth the fight
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try
So live like you'll never live it twice
Don't take the free ride in your own life
If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
Would you call old friends you never see?
Reminisce of memories
Would you forgive your enemies?
Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you finally fall in love
If today was your last day
If today was your last day
Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?
You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars
Regardless of who you are
So do whatever it takes
'Cause you can't rewind a moment in this life
Let nothin' stand in your way
Cause the hands of time are never on your side
If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
Would you call old friends you never see?
Reminisce of memories
Would you forgive your enemies?
Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you finally fall in love
If today was your last day
(Nickelback)
Fire
Orphic Hymn 66 to Hephaestus (trans. Taylor) (Greek hymns C3rd B.C. to 2nd A.D.) :"To Hephaistos, Fumigation from Frankincense and Manna. Strong, mighty Hephaistos, bearing splendid light, unwearied fire, with flaming torrents bright : strong-handed, deathless, and of art divine, pure element, a portion of the world is thine : all-taming artist, all-diffusive power, ‘tis thine, supreme, all substance to devour : aither, sun, moon, and stars, light pure and clear, for these thy lucid parts [of fire] to men appear. To thee all dwellings, cities, tribes belong, diffused through mortal bodies, rich and strong. Hear, blessed power, to holy rites incline, and all propitious on the incense shine : suppress the rage of fire’s unwearied frame, and still preserve our nature’s vital flame."
Urgent drumbeats - frantic among the braying of beast and horn - brought both Dee and I to our feet. It had been a wonderful day, spent for the most part with Dee. Conversation had slipped into that easy give and take, laced with humor, sprinkled with girl talk and spiced with darker paths I found easy to take with her. The edginess and distance were memories of the past and we laughed and smiled through most of the hard work of the day.
Settled upon a crinkly bed of grass, we both bent over handwork - special projects intended to be special gifts upon completions. Dee's was tooled and stitched leather while mine was intricately stitched and beaded pieces. I am not an artist by any means, but I love painting a picture with thread and embellishments, giving life to a shape through subtle variations of color- hues nearly identical save for a hint of darkness or light. Our matched focus was intense, and neither of us realized a thing going on around us.
I blame that for missing the sky - my blissful comfort with a friend coupled with an enjoyable task. When the drums and horns sounded, however, everything changed. Somewhere on the plains I am sure a strip of crafted leather coils beside an embroidered piece, lazily taking in the day. Perhaps they remained untouched by the happening. Perhaps they turned to ash together, taking the effort and beauty to the sky and leaving only the skeletal shell behind.
The sky had turned into one of the wonders of my childhood. When I looked up, hearing all the commotion, I instantly had the memory of my feet dangling over the crooked top railing, my head pressed back firmly against the broad chest of Uncle Dray. On either side of me, more family and friends lined the rough boards of barrier and all eyes stared at the same spectacle. To me it was a wonder. A gift of mother nature that my young years couldn't make sense of yet.
The sky was turned upside down. Thick gray clouds that usually brought storms didn't hover high above, but were now at the bottom of the bowl of the sky. Far in the distance the spikes of crisp grass reached for the topsy turvy world, mixing their blades of yellow green into the yellow orange of the Central Fire. The light of Lar' Torvis was tied down, captured beneath those clouds instead of on top of them. Fingernails of orange reached into the slate sky and kept it upside down. I had wondered then, in curious naivety, if it was raining upside down too.
It never came close - that upside down world. It hung in the distance like a painting on the wall. Many of the men rode out into the odd landscape, returning days later with saddlebags filled with stories and a few injuries. Yama wouldn't let me stay near the gatherings to listen, usually shooing me off to bed or to play out of earshot. I never equated that with the raging terror that was fire.
Until today.
Everything around us erupted into screaming, scrambling, shouting and heat. Dee clasped my hand and tugged, and we quickly joined the frantic movement of Tuchuk and animals. One moment it seemed like there was plenty of time....time to gather up possessions, time to find a loved one, time to prepare. In the next instant all that time was consumed by a fiery breath preceded by the chokehold of smoke.
Run...Dee...Run
Hand in hand we followed the desperate lines of people, wagons, and animals. I was the runner, Dee was not. Countless times I turned back to her, pulling her along with me in some frantic attempt to keep ahead of the monster of heat and terror behind us. Panic soaked every nerve in our bodies, adrenaline rushed crazily through our blood. We clung to each other, calling out faces we recognized as we passed. There was, in both of us, an insane hope to find the faces of those we loved and cherished above all.
In the midst of it all, in the middle of all the screaming, racing people, a voice cried out. It demanded help, it pleaded for it, it had to be obeyed. Dee and I turned to help push a wagon wedged in a rut of stiff mud. Shoulder to rump with the bosk we both tried to jostle it, shake it, move it just enough for the tethered beasts to take over. It all happened so fast. A kailla raced by, clipping Dee and pushing her into the wagon wheel just as a billow of gray swarmed over us both, leaving us gasping for a sip of sweet air. The snap of whip came just as a roar of heat barreled closer, and before my eyes the orange tongues of fire licked at the wood and canvas of the wagon. It hardly seemed real, watching the series of events. The panicked bosk trying to be free of the searing heat, that pulled on the yoke and pitched the wagon to it's side. The woman caught beneath the wedge of wheel, now crushed beneath the weight of wagon bed. The laughing cackling fire that swept through it all as if it were mere kindling. The curl of fingers that reached for me...one...final time.
"She's gone! Run! It's just a slave! Run..Run for your life!"
Urgent drumbeats - frantic among the braying of beast and horn - brought both Dee and I to our feet. It had been a wonderful day, spent for the most part with Dee. Conversation had slipped into that easy give and take, laced with humor, sprinkled with girl talk and spiced with darker paths I found easy to take with her. The edginess and distance were memories of the past and we laughed and smiled through most of the hard work of the day.
Settled upon a crinkly bed of grass, we both bent over handwork - special projects intended to be special gifts upon completions. Dee's was tooled and stitched leather while mine was intricately stitched and beaded pieces. I am not an artist by any means, but I love painting a picture with thread and embellishments, giving life to a shape through subtle variations of color- hues nearly identical save for a hint of darkness or light. Our matched focus was intense, and neither of us realized a thing going on around us.
I blame that for missing the sky - my blissful comfort with a friend coupled with an enjoyable task. When the drums and horns sounded, however, everything changed. Somewhere on the plains I am sure a strip of crafted leather coils beside an embroidered piece, lazily taking in the day. Perhaps they remained untouched by the happening. Perhaps they turned to ash together, taking the effort and beauty to the sky and leaving only the skeletal shell behind.
The sky had turned into one of the wonders of my childhood. When I looked up, hearing all the commotion, I instantly had the memory of my feet dangling over the crooked top railing, my head pressed back firmly against the broad chest of Uncle Dray. On either side of me, more family and friends lined the rough boards of barrier and all eyes stared at the same spectacle. To me it was a wonder. A gift of mother nature that my young years couldn't make sense of yet.
The sky was turned upside down. Thick gray clouds that usually brought storms didn't hover high above, but were now at the bottom of the bowl of the sky. Far in the distance the spikes of crisp grass reached for the topsy turvy world, mixing their blades of yellow green into the yellow orange of the Central Fire. The light of Lar' Torvis was tied down, captured beneath those clouds instead of on top of them. Fingernails of orange reached into the slate sky and kept it upside down. I had wondered then, in curious naivety, if it was raining upside down too.
It never came close - that upside down world. It hung in the distance like a painting on the wall. Many of the men rode out into the odd landscape, returning days later with saddlebags filled with stories and a few injuries. Yama wouldn't let me stay near the gatherings to listen, usually shooing me off to bed or to play out of earshot. I never equated that with the raging terror that was fire.
Until today.
Everything around us erupted into screaming, scrambling, shouting and heat. Dee clasped my hand and tugged, and we quickly joined the frantic movement of Tuchuk and animals. One moment it seemed like there was plenty of time....time to gather up possessions, time to find a loved one, time to prepare. In the next instant all that time was consumed by a fiery breath preceded by the chokehold of smoke.
Run...Dee...Run
Hand in hand we followed the desperate lines of people, wagons, and animals. I was the runner, Dee was not. Countless times I turned back to her, pulling her along with me in some frantic attempt to keep ahead of the monster of heat and terror behind us. Panic soaked every nerve in our bodies, adrenaline rushed crazily through our blood. We clung to each other, calling out faces we recognized as we passed. There was, in both of us, an insane hope to find the faces of those we loved and cherished above all.
In the midst of it all, in the middle of all the screaming, racing people, a voice cried out. It demanded help, it pleaded for it, it had to be obeyed. Dee and I turned to help push a wagon wedged in a rut of stiff mud. Shoulder to rump with the bosk we both tried to jostle it, shake it, move it just enough for the tethered beasts to take over. It all happened so fast. A kailla raced by, clipping Dee and pushing her into the wagon wheel just as a billow of gray swarmed over us both, leaving us gasping for a sip of sweet air. The snap of whip came just as a roar of heat barreled closer, and before my eyes the orange tongues of fire licked at the wood and canvas of the wagon. It hardly seemed real, watching the series of events. The panicked bosk trying to be free of the searing heat, that pulled on the yoke and pitched the wagon to it's side. The woman caught beneath the wedge of wheel, now crushed beneath the weight of wagon bed. The laughing cackling fire that swept through it all as if it were mere kindling. The curl of fingers that reached for me...one...final time.
"She's gone! Run! It's just a slave! Run..Run for your life!"
That Which We Hold Dear
Dee and I have not been getting along that well lately. I have noticed she doesn't show up at the wagons of Master Fonce in search of me very often, nor seek me out in the fields or at the stream. When I have found her, our timing dictates that we have but a few moments together. Those moments are sometimes thick in silence - a silence that either wears as a thick comfort, or prods with steel tipped pauses. Other times our conversations seemed comprised with prickling short jabs at one another. The kind of conversation that I find myself able to watch from the sidelines, knowing I should not say the things I am saying, but quite unable to stop myself - the 'myself' doing all the talking.
It could be the heat, the interminable scorching air that wears on our skin until our every nerve ending is exposed and raw. It could be the particular threads of our lives - where the strokes of forming relationships must be done within the battle of work and scraping out a wealth of living. It could simply be the path a friendship has taken.
I miss her. Even as I seek her less, uncomfortable with the tension that exists. I miss her, even as I slog through my day, knowing fate hardly hands us a moment of rest. I miss her, even as I am comfortable in my solitary lifestyle. The product of being an only child among a world of adults.
I miss her.
It could be the heat, the interminable scorching air that wears on our skin until our every nerve ending is exposed and raw. It could be the particular threads of our lives - where the strokes of forming relationships must be done within the battle of work and scraping out a wealth of living. It could simply be the path a friendship has taken.
I miss her. Even as I seek her less, uncomfortable with the tension that exists. I miss her, even as I slog through my day, knowing fate hardly hands us a moment of rest. I miss her, even as I am comfortable in my solitary lifestyle. The product of being an only child among a world of adults.
I miss her.
Peaches and Cream
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Hot, sweltering, blistering heat. How I longed for the dugout beneath the ranch house that held stores of supplies. It was dark and cool and protected from the Central Fire's insistence on burning everything in sight. I felt blistered, thick and sluggish, every movement drawn out as if the heat was a swiftly running stream that I was constantly trying to battle. Exhaustion came all the faster and even my arms and legs felt painful to move too much.
Evening arrived with a fiery brilliance of stars that seemed to still throw off heat. The air, while cooler, still clung like moist fog around skin and even congregated in the dry brittle grass. People moved in slow swarms toward the stream, attempting to find at least a little relief, and I had done the same. Pockets of people gathered along the banks that lined the waterway, and if you walked long enough you were bound to find someone you knew. I was doing just that, wandering with a hopeful look.
I settled among a group of familiar faces that brought a welcome sense of relief to jog around my insides. My Master's features struck that chord of instant blushing energy, even as I noticed the Ubara, the Ubar, the Artisan and that pretty slave Takara. She and I have been hauling extra water to fill the barrels around the camp, as have many others. But we were special, for we were always winking at each other or something of a silly nature when our paths crossed.
I am sure by now it is evident how everything else becomes inconsequential when I am in the near vicinity of Master Fonce. Our paths do not often cross, and when they do, I am agog with so many things, not the least of which is just pure unadulterated happiness to see the Man. It was all there, all these things, and they were magnified as well. Made all the more profound by the fact that Brave Warrior Fonce was smiling and relaxing and happy looking. Beside Him, close enough to keep contact, was an equally happy and smiling Seveya. The world had righted itself and bloomed into something good. I haven't seen Him like this in a really long time. I haven't seen - them - like this...in a really long time. I wanted to hold it for as long as possible.
And then there were all the other things too. Like..what happened with Red. Was I next in line? And there was that Paravaci Master over there too, who happens to be Takara's owner. I know it is hypocritical, and I have tried all my life to be openly accepting, but I just felt fear take hold of my insides each time I thought about the Vaci. I had so many reasons to want to cling to that Man of the coal chunk eyes and breathe in the scent that was uniquely Him. Besides...I am really crazy about Him.
Conversations continued without pause around us, and one by one the others slipped off into the night. Master Fonce rested among three women - Seveya, Takara and myself. Eventually He too slipped into the dark folds of evening and the banter continued between us women. The comments and questions came quickly from Takara, laced with brazen innuendo and good natured teasing, and the night passed quickly. The slave is an energetic woman, intent on pleasing, and openly free with her hungers and desires. I detected a loneliness underlying the fast paced changing of topics. A loneliness I understood.
In the midst of it all, Seveya left us, and we both felt a sudden remorseful moment. Running off the woman that brings all the smile to the face of my Master is never something I feel comfortable about. He was obviously happy to have her near...teasing her by saying "nothing wrong with a little cold one on the side". I am not sure I would feel so bad about running off Takara - at least in the area of Master Fonce. I found myself feeling this protective little barrier forming, even though I myself find the woman delightful, entertaining and interesting. Maybe there is more than one "cold one".
In a heat wave
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Dee and I had spent most of the morning plucking dried grass and reeds from the banks of the stream. The Central Fire was all that it's name implied. The air was stifling. Even the water seemed tepid instead of cool and refreshing. Some of us were fortunate and could escape to whatever shade we could find during the most scorching ahns of the day. Others were not so lucky, and I admired their perseverance and stamina. Dee and I, along with other slaves, kept a steady supply of freshly filled botas of water delivered out in the fields. It was not always easy, crossing the distances to where Riders kept careful watch. My skin, already a golden chestnut, still burned in the harsh rays. Salty sweat stung the corners of my eyes and they felt raw from my constant wiping. More than once I thought to take my turn at resting in the slight relief of the chugging stream, but I didn't want to miss a chance of finding my Master.
He is an addiction of mine. A sweet torment that I tell myself can be cured by just one moment of seeing Him. But that is a lie. My encounters with Him only inspire a hunger for more. A need for the next moment to come, and I am consumed with hope and anticipation and desire. I truly like Him, which is a thread being woven beneath the flush of smitten adoration. A pleasant thread. I felt it pulse with life last night.
I had packet up a basket with some samples of food. Different kinds of meats and cheeses and even a few dried berries. Some of the city slaves had been telling us about an Inn in Ar where the meals are served entirely on the naked body of women. Delicacies and rich pastries, succulent tender entrées and decadent desserts, all were displayed artfully over the interesting landscape of breasts and stomach, thighs and arms. It was enough to excite me with the mere thought of it, and I intended to practice it down by the stream. It had to take some skill and practice to lay still, especially with all the sensations striking at once. I couldn't help the trembling shivers that overtook me when I thought of offering such a meal for my Master. Could I possibly lay motionless and not dump the food all over while His eyes stole every secret my flesh possessed? ohhhh
The quickest way to the stream was past the main fire's hearth, and I swept through the shadows afforded with a determined stride...until that vision of my daydreams was right there in the flesh. Solitary dining at the stream wasn't so inviting any more. I adored Him in the sweltering heat, though agreed it was hard to be comfortable so close. I was sent to help the beautiful slave who's name is Takara. We chatted softly, getting to know one another in bits and pieces, though quickly that leisure ended. I had been resting in the aura of my Master's presence, tasting the feel of the fresh blossom resting at my neck, when the Healer I had heard about arrived. Gossip said He was all Paravaci, and I wasn't eager to find out anything more. I hurried back to my Master, relieved to be able to touch Him, find security, sanctuary, and His shade. My...protector.
When I get nervous, I talk...about..everything and anything. I mentioned the story of feasts being served upon the rippling surface of a beautiful woman's body. I wanted so badly to do such for Him some day, once I had perfected it, of course. The Artisan was nearby, and though I had spoken low, I realized that He might not be so willing to help me practice when He could spend time with her. She is a light in His eyes that flickers and sparks and falls from Him over me in a wash of heated pleasure. He was not smiling, however, for the sparks in the air were due to tension and bantered words nearby between others. I offered a picnic, an escape for us all, but before that thought was hardly out in the air Mistress Seveya had left.
Sometimes I can feel the air sucked right out of a place, and this was one of those times. I felt helpless at a time I desperately wanted to make something better. What had been all winding up and twisting into a thread of togetherness now suddenly was unraveling. I must have worn the sigh that I felt internally, for I certainly felt it.
And then He left His thumbprint on my heart. It was a simple gesture, a mere press of His thumb to my cheek, but it might as well have been an entire conversation. The weight of worry lifted from my shoulders with the wings of the wind. His heart saw mine, and I felt encouraged. His touch spoke, and I knew the rapture of understanding. The imprint that left me vulnerable and grateful. Heat never felt so good.
He is an addiction of mine. A sweet torment that I tell myself can be cured by just one moment of seeing Him. But that is a lie. My encounters with Him only inspire a hunger for more. A need for the next moment to come, and I am consumed with hope and anticipation and desire. I truly like Him, which is a thread being woven beneath the flush of smitten adoration. A pleasant thread. I felt it pulse with life last night.
I had packet up a basket with some samples of food. Different kinds of meats and cheeses and even a few dried berries. Some of the city slaves had been telling us about an Inn in Ar where the meals are served entirely on the naked body of women. Delicacies and rich pastries, succulent tender entrées and decadent desserts, all were displayed artfully over the interesting landscape of breasts and stomach, thighs and arms. It was enough to excite me with the mere thought of it, and I intended to practice it down by the stream. It had to take some skill and practice to lay still, especially with all the sensations striking at once. I couldn't help the trembling shivers that overtook me when I thought of offering such a meal for my Master. Could I possibly lay motionless and not dump the food all over while His eyes stole every secret my flesh possessed? ohhhh
The quickest way to the stream was past the main fire's hearth, and I swept through the shadows afforded with a determined stride...until that vision of my daydreams was right there in the flesh. Solitary dining at the stream wasn't so inviting any more. I adored Him in the sweltering heat, though agreed it was hard to be comfortable so close. I was sent to help the beautiful slave who's name is Takara. We chatted softly, getting to know one another in bits and pieces, though quickly that leisure ended. I had been resting in the aura of my Master's presence, tasting the feel of the fresh blossom resting at my neck, when the Healer I had heard about arrived. Gossip said He was all Paravaci, and I wasn't eager to find out anything more. I hurried back to my Master, relieved to be able to touch Him, find security, sanctuary, and His shade. My...protector.
When I get nervous, I talk...about..everything and anything. I mentioned the story of feasts being served upon the rippling surface of a beautiful woman's body. I wanted so badly to do such for Him some day, once I had perfected it, of course. The Artisan was nearby, and though I had spoken low, I realized that He might not be so willing to help me practice when He could spend time with her. She is a light in His eyes that flickers and sparks and falls from Him over me in a wash of heated pleasure. He was not smiling, however, for the sparks in the air were due to tension and bantered words nearby between others. I offered a picnic, an escape for us all, but before that thought was hardly out in the air Mistress Seveya had left.
Sometimes I can feel the air sucked right out of a place, and this was one of those times. I felt helpless at a time I desperately wanted to make something better. What had been all winding up and twisting into a thread of togetherness now suddenly was unraveling. I must have worn the sigh that I felt internally, for I certainly felt it.
And then He left His thumbprint on my heart. It was a simple gesture, a mere press of His thumb to my cheek, but it might as well have been an entire conversation. The weight of worry lifted from my shoulders with the wings of the wind. His heart saw mine, and I felt encouraged. His touch spoke, and I knew the rapture of understanding. The imprint that left me vulnerable and grateful. Heat never felt so good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
