Voyeur (A Series) Part Three - Counting Coup, Changing Energy

I left the stream bed with a happier investment in my day. The dull thickness of the nick after Shel now had a light fluttering of wings beside it from pot. Perhaps that is what led me to the clearing of wildflowers twirling beneath the swirling breeze in a dance for Lar Torivs. I gathered as many as my already laden arms could carry, and I memorized the way back so I could gather more.


When I left the pile of cleaned cloths for Shel, they bore only a shadow of the dark stains they once beheld. No sounds escaped the wagons that she and her children lit up with life, but evidence of their existence waited for their return on the steps and platforms of the wagons. Clothing, shoes, cups, toys...all sat ..waiting...for their family to return. I left the large bundle of brightly colored blooms in a squat round pot just to the side of the cooking fire. The long stems bent gently and spilled the colors like a canvas painting into the earth brown and scraggly green scenery, and I just had to smile.

The next armload I carried back to the wagons of my Owner and stepped inside the main one with a glance around. There was little evidence of me here, in the depths of happiness and private whispers, but that was about to change. My wildflowers waved and bowed from every available container and painted the already colorful walls with a living breathing background. A spicy honeyed scent sprinkled the air and when I backed out slowly, even that slight disruption of air sent the long stemmed flowers to rippled and shimmy as if a finger raced along each petal and tickled them.

I was pleased.

And then I began on the slave wagon. More appropriately - the supply wagon. I had carved out a small spot when the vulo had overtaken the last available wagon, and my quarters had been ample. Sufficient. Comfortable. But hardly suited for visitors. I spent every available moment unloading the wagon, tearing through moldy foodstuffs, unused clothing, impractical cluttter, reorganizing and repacking until everything fit nicely all around the edges. I had been fortunate, we had stayed put in a valley of fresh grass for longer than usual, and I was able to work without the interruption of a move for a hand at a time. Prominently displayed each time I fell into the blankets and cloth I used for sleeping were the vessel of colorful flowers, bobbing their heads in approval of the day's efforts.

Now, I didn't think Master Brave Warrior Fonce would actually...come there. He and His Lady are locked in that beautiful symmetry of love that is visible from a thousand pasangs out. A dance of two souls in slow cadence, a mirror of steps, broken only when the heart changes tone and the hunt and tease begin.

But I am female.

And in my woman's dreams, His perfect twin marches up those platform steps and rips back the canvas door...demanding my presence.

Now there was room for Him to stand.