Where O' where is dear little Mayla?
Where O' where is dear little Mayla?
Where O' where is dear little Mayla?
Where O' where is dear little Mayla?
Way down yonder in the Paw Paw Patch.
Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.
Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.
Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.
Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.
Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.
Way down yonder in the Paw Paw Patch.
Come on boys, let's go find her.
Come on boys, let's go find her.
Come on boys, let's go find her.
Come on boys, let's go find her.
Come on boys, let's go find her.
Way down yonder in the Paw Paw Patch.
Ok, where was Mayala? The woman had not been seen in several days. She had asked around to see if anyone knew where she was. Her wagon was still parked along with theirs, just as it had been, but no one had seen the leather worker in a long time. In fact, not since that day she had come to the pens to visit with her. Chunluun was still on his perch, being fed daily by various slaves, but no Mayala.
Many times she had stepped up on the platform, called to her, but got no answer. She truly hated to invade anyone's personal space, but worry had finally forced her hand. Stepping into the wagon, it was cold. The fire in the small copper bowl had been out for a long time, there was no sign of heat in the ashes. The interior was neat and tidy, as it always was, but empty of any feeling of habitation. She wasn't sure why, but this bothered her, and as long as she was snooping anyhow, she began to open chests, inspecting the clothing that she found. It all seemed to be there, or at least the items that she could remember Mayala wearing. The only ones she did not find were the ones Mayala had been wearing that day she had visited her at the pens.
Laying on the furs were two small sets of leathers that looked to be just the right size for Tug. Were these the ones she had promised? Standing in the middle of the wagon, she slowly turned around, the hazel eyes taking in everything that was there. It was as if the woman had simply disappeared. The only things that seemed to be missing were the clothing that she was wearing, and the satchel that was her constant companion. There were pieces of unfinished projects neatly stacked in the work area, but that did not seem odd, Mayala was a very neat person.
Her brow furrowed as she saw something sitting on a shelf. Approaching it, the frown deepened. Reaching out, her fingers caressed the cup. The same cup that Mayala always brought to the fires. The cup she always drank from. The cup she was rarely without. How curious that it was here, and not Mayala.
Stepping outside, once more she looked around, pondering this all in her mind. A thought hit her and she jumped down from the platform and almost ran towards the pens, that braid flying behind her. When she got there, she began to ask around about Corbin and where he was, finally finding out that he had patrol last evening and was due back soon. Almost as if it was a gift, she saw the exhausted man ride up to the pens and dismount. She questioned him, where was Mayala? He didn't know, he had not seen her in several days. And there it was again, that frown that came when she was worried. She told him that she was worried about the woman. He did not even look at her, but said…….Me too.
Ok, where was Mayala? The woman had not been seen in several days. She had asked around to see if anyone knew where she was. Her wagon was still parked along with theirs, just as it had been, but no one had seen the leather worker in a long time. In fact, not since that day she had come to the pens to visit with her. Chunluun was still on his perch, being fed daily by various slaves, but no Mayala.
Many times she had stepped up on the platform, called to her, but got no answer. She truly hated to invade anyone's personal space, but worry had finally forced her hand. Stepping into the wagon, it was cold. The fire in the small copper bowl had been out for a long time, there was no sign of heat in the ashes. The interior was neat and tidy, as it always was, but empty of any feeling of habitation. She wasn't sure why, but this bothered her, and as long as she was snooping anyhow, she began to open chests, inspecting the clothing that she found. It all seemed to be there, or at least the items that she could remember Mayala wearing. The only ones she did not find were the ones Mayala had been wearing that day she had visited her at the pens.
Laying on the furs were two small sets of leathers that looked to be just the right size for Tug. Were these the ones she had promised? Standing in the middle of the wagon, she slowly turned around, the hazel eyes taking in everything that was there. It was as if the woman had simply disappeared. The only things that seemed to be missing were the clothing that she was wearing, and the satchel that was her constant companion. There were pieces of unfinished projects neatly stacked in the work area, but that did not seem odd, Mayala was a very neat person.
Her brow furrowed as she saw something sitting on a shelf. Approaching it, the frown deepened. Reaching out, her fingers caressed the cup. The same cup that Mayala always brought to the fires. The cup she always drank from. The cup she was rarely without. How curious that it was here, and not Mayala.
Stepping outside, once more she looked around, pondering this all in her mind. A thought hit her and she jumped down from the platform and almost ran towards the pens, that braid flying behind her. When she got there, she began to ask around about Corbin and where he was, finally finding out that he had patrol last evening and was due back soon. Almost as if it was a gift, she saw the exhausted man ride up to the pens and dismount. She questioned him, where was Mayala? He didn't know, he had not seen her in several days. And there it was again, that frown that came when she was worried. She told him that she was worried about the woman. He did not even look at her, but said…….Me too.
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