The Noir wagons were very busy. The precious salt that she had gotten, was being put to good use in salting down the meat that Tarra had sent to their wagons. Rook always helped at these times, carefully slicing the meat into thin strips, which she would hang in a wagon with a brazier going constantly to dry them out. They would then be packed with the salt into bags for preservation. The girls had the hides and were carefully scraping them, then stretching them. Tug even had his part to do, which mostly consisted of running from place to place to see what they were doing. He was given small tasks to do, such as carrying things to the trash barrel, or carrying messages back and forth.
She had seasoned and put a haunch of the tabuk over the fire to roast, and under her watchful eye, he was allowed to turn the spit. There was nothing at all wrong with teaching them young, and there was no such thing as a lazy Tuchuk. It had been a busy morning, but she had found the time to make bread, putting it into the covered iron pot in the coals to cook, and this was when she decided that something sweet was in order. Going through her stores, she found what she was looking for, some berries that she had dried right before they came north. These were simmered with sugar, a bit of honey and some spices. Right before they were done, she dropped small dumplings of dough into the pot then placed a crust over it, covered it and had Rook bury it in the coals too. Tonight, dinner would be an affair.
She was working around the fire, fluffing furs, just basically making things more presentable, when she found herself sprawled face down, having felt like she had been hit in the head. She had been bending over, her balance a little precarious, then bam, on her face. Sitting up, she reached to the back of her head, puzzled. What in the name of skies had happened. Sitting there, she got her bearings, shook her head and stood up, looking around. There was no one near her. The girls were still scraping hides, Rook and Tug were involved in some game on a wagon platform that involved Tug learning to throw a blunted dagger. Surely he had not thrown one and hit his mother in the head. Watching them, she realized that had not happened. Shrugging, she went back to her work, going to turn the tabuk on the spit.
Suddenly, there was this odd noise, and something was on her head and she heard a squawk, and something was beating along her cheeks. She began to dance around, waving her hands around, trying to dislodge whatever it was, but at about that time, she felt the talons sink into her scalp. Hearing her screams, Rook came running, and for a moment, he was simply overcome with laughter. Finally he put her out of her misery, that was, he did it when he could get her to stand still for him. She really looked a sight, dancing around flapping her arms with the bird perched on her head, digging its' talons into her hair, then pecking a the strands he pulled loose. Getting her to stand still, he carefully disentangled the birds claws from her hair, then tossed him into the air. It was actually a beautiful sight to see the bird take flight, circle the wagons then go back to her perch, preening and grooming himself.
She looked up. "What in the name of skies was that? " He laughed. "Chuluun. Looks like he has finally taken the notion to fly." At that precise moment, the bird took fligh, circling higher and higher, then catching the currents and floating in the clear, blue sky, his wings stretched out. She whispers. "He is gorgeous." She watches him for a long time, right to the point when he began to flap his wings and flew out of view. Her heart sunk watching him go, and immediately she wondered if he would return.
Returning to her work, she thinks upon the promise that she had made to Mayala about taking care of the bird. She had done that. Or rather the girls had. They had fed him, watched over him, and for them he had become part of their little family. For some reason, her mind turned over the thoughts, that someday, that would be Tug, trying his own wings, and leaving the safe little nest that she had made here for him with Lochlan. Sadness settled in her heart, but she knew that it was just part of life. But it was a part that she did not want to think about just yet.
She was tending to the meat when she heard the flapping of the wings. Then as graceful as a feather, the bird floated down from the sky to land upon her shoulder. Standing very still, she slowly lifted her hand, the backs of her fingers moving to stroke along the feathers on his breast. He shifted then seemed to settle down, finding his new perch quite acceptable. Laughing softly, she reached to pull a bit of the meat from the roast and held it to his beak. The greedy little thing grabbed at it, tilted his head back and it disappeared down his gullet. This was done a few more time, then he took flight again to land on his perch on the wagon rail, tucking his head down, closing his eyes, then he slept.
Flying is exhausting work.
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