An Ill Wind?

The bosk and kaiila seemed uneasy, which is the first sign that something is amiss. The bosk were being difficult to get into the traces, and the kailla danced around, snorting, nostrils flaring. As she was cooking, Ciegue came up behind her, nudged her in the back trying to move her back towards her wagon. She pushed at him, and told him to go away, she did not have time to play. Skies, that animal suddenly had taken the notion that she was his mare or something. He was becoming very protective, which in a way was not only odd, but endearing.


As the first rays of the Central Fire began to lighten the sky,she began to hear people, shouting and saw OutRiders running. Rook came to her, grasped her arm, and shouted for her to get in the wagon. Looking up at him oddly, she pulled her arm away, and he grasped it again and pointed towards the horizon. Looking, her mouth dropped open. You could see the storm forming. At first, she thought it was a spring thunderstorm, but looking longer she realized it was something much worse. It was a wind strom, one that was picking up the dirt, tossing it in swirls and eddies. Memories of the storm at the end of the last journey came back, and she did not have to be told to get in the wagon again.


Moving as quickly as she could, she started to mount the steps and slipped. From what seemed like no where, Sinjin was there to catch her and help her into the wagon. He was very firm when he told her to stay, and not to come out. Had he known her better, he would have known that she really was not one to be foolhardy or to ignore the commands off a warrior, whether he was Tuchuk or a guest. The only thing that she asked, was that he make sure that Tug was safe. She knew that Leonette would do what was best, but she was still a mother, with a mother's worry.


She could hear Rook and Sinjin yelling back an forth above the din, trying to get the bosk out of the harnesses as quickly as they could. They took the team off of her wagon, then both of them moved to the other wagons, drawing one up on either side of the one she was in. She realized, they were protecting her, trying to make wind breaks to either side of the wagon she was in, to protect her. Tying the flaps as securely as she could, she moved around and tried to make sure there was nothing that would go flying around if the wind were to get to her. At that particular moment, she was almost glad that she had her fit of temper a few nights earlier, for there was not much to batten down.


After things were secured, her thoughts went to the men, and that worry kicked in again, as she became concerned for them still being outside. She would have looked out, but she knew what Rook would do if she did so she just paced grumbling to herself, rubbing her belly. Even with the extra protection the other wagons, when the first gusts hit, her wagon shook and she stumbled, almost going to her knees. Catching herself, she managed to get to the platform of furs and lie down. Pulling the furs around her, she tried to put the bulk of them around her body. In her mind, she was giving extra protection to the child she carried.


The winds blew and groaned around the wagon, and the wagon shook, creaked and sounded like it was going to come apart. One particularly viscous gust caught the covering and ripped it from the frame on one side. Her first thought was to try and grasp it, hold it so that it would not blow completely off, but she could not even get up, the wind was so hard. She had to eventually put the furs up over her head in order to breath, to not do so, the wind took her breath away. She could hear the canvas flapping around, then the sound of debris pelting the inside of her wagon. At one point, she could feel it striking her body, and was doubly grateful for the protection of the furs.


It seemed like ahns that she lay there, terrified of what was going on around her. She heard a final rip of the wagon canvas and realized it was gone, and the wind began to rip the furs from her grasp. She fought to hold on to them, but realized it was folly, that she would not be able to keep them.


Suddenly, she heard the voices, but was unable to understand what was being said. The next thing she knew, strong arms were surrounding her from both sides, and she felt the bodies lay down next to her. And this was how she rode out the remainder of the storm, protected on both sides by the bodies and arms of warriors that had her safety at heart.


When the winds abated, they both sat up, then Sinjin helped her up. There was true concern from both of them about her condition. But other than being scared, and now very dirty, she was fine. Or she would be fine once her heart calmed down. She then began to fuss that there was much to do, and she must get busy. Wrong. It took only one of those heartbeats for both of the warriors to tell her she was not doing anything. When she protested that she was pregnant, and not an invalid, it fell on deaf ears.


A bit defeated, she began to look around, to see the damage that was done. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, and she had been through many storms, but never one like this one had been. It was chaos, but she could see people starting to climb out of wagons, and from underneath wagons to look around. The strength of the Tuchuk began to show through. Everyone began to work, trying to clean up the mess.


She could hear conversations around her, and people speaking of seeing the wind twist and turn like no other time. Finally she was allowed to crawl out of her wagon so that they could begin to repair the canvass, but was cautioned to find a place to sit, and to not wander off. Just like a child, but she did as she was told. One elder came to sit on the steps of the wagon with her, and began to regale her with stories of times well past, when the winds had done this before, destroying everything in their path, even the earth where they touched. According to him it was an evil omen. She did not want to hear of such things, and was very grateful when Rook approached and told her that there were some of her wagons that sustained lesser damage,and Sinjin was making her a bed in one of them. She gracefully excused herself from the elder and followed him.


Sinjin had tidied up the wagon, made her a bed and had the salve and poultices for her legs. He more or less took over, and told her what she could and couldn't do. At one point she had opened her mouth to speak, but he had held his hand up, as a sign he would brook no argument from her, so she quieted. Rook came to sit with her, just to assuage his own worries, and they talked of those that had stayed behind, and she had said that at this point she wished she had stayed with the. That was when he told her of his visit from Ulrich, and of him being charged to get her on the trail at the orders of the spex Tarra. The woman felt that she would be safer with the tribe, than she would be staying behind. She was left with this nugget to ponder on as he went to help with the clean up and repairs.


In spite of what was going on around her, and her worries, she found that she spent most of the day dozing off and on. Late in the afternoon, kasra came in with a light meal for her, and some tea that Sinjin had her make. But most importantly,she came with news and gossip. There had been deaths from the storm, and injuries, which saddened her immensely.


The decision had been made to camp here to do the repairs and to hold pyres for those that had been lost, and it was going to be necessary for the out riders to gather the bosk who had stampeded into all four directions. And kasra had assured her that Tug was fine, and he and Wily were finding this all a great adventure. It would be so nice to be young.


So, they would be camping for a few days. Suddenly, the trail was getting longer, and she was getting more pregnant. It was with a sinking heart that she realized that this child would probably be born on the trail, and that silent fear crept into her again.

Dawn and Visitors.

She was in that stage that exists between sleep and being awake. That little gray area where you just want to pull the furs up, roll over and forget getting up. She was warm, cozy, and still sleepy, but that did not last long.


She heard a commotion out on the steps of her wagon, and a very,very familiar voice. "I want to talk to Auntie Cana, and it is important!" The girls were trying to convince him to come back later, telling him that his Auntie Cana was still sleeping, but he was not to be deterred. "She will talk to me. I am Wily." Made sense, didn't it? Sitting up, she reaches to pull on the leather dress, and stumbles to the flaps, opening them. "Tal Wily, is something wrong?" He gave the two slaves and Rook "the look" and told them. "See, told you she would talk to me." And with no further ado, he pushed past the flaps into her wagon.


He stood for a moment looking around at the almost empty wagon. "Auntie Cana, where's your stuff?" She moved to lower back down on the edge of the furs, trying to wake up. Now, does she tell him that her "stuff" was mostly broken, from the night she tried to throw it all out onto the plains? No, why worry him. "It is in the other wagon. I am making room for the baby. You are up awfully early today." He looks at her curiously, with that look that only Wily gets. "It ain't early, you are just late." Now how could you argue with that kind of logic. She reaches to ruffle that red hair. "Maybe so, my warrior."


Standing there with his hands on his hips, he gets down to business. "Auntie Cana, can Tug come ride in the wagon today with me n' my new mate Nettie?" It was awfully early, but she did manage to bite back the laugh that wanted to spill out. Sobering her face, she nods. "That sounds lovely Wily. Did you ask Leonette if it would be okay with her?" His eyes narrow and he looks at her as if she had lost her mind. "I don't have to ask her. She is my mate. I am the man, she is the woman, so I am in charge." That little red head was just a bobbing as he made this statement. Skies, he was a handful now, what was he going to be like when he was old.


"I tell you what. You go tell the girls to get Tug up, feed and dress him, then he can go, but you will also take kasra with you, so she has something to do today." She knew that if Leonette felt it was too much, she would have kasra bring him to his own wagon. That red head nods once. "You needs to rest Auntie Cana, we will take care of Tug. It's our duty, with you bein' havin' a baby and all that." Without another word, he turns and runs out of the wagon, and the next thing she hears is him yelling. "She said yes Tug!" She falls back onto the furs, holding her middle and laughing. Skies, that boy was something else.


After she finished dressing and braiding her hair, she stepped out onto the platform to see Sinjin there as promised, helping Rook to hitch today's bosk to the wagons. This did not surprise her, for she had this feeling, he was a man of his word. Stepping carefully down the steps, she went to rouse juneau, and they made a morning meal for all of them. One that would have to hold them for most of the day.


It was time to get moving.

Stranger or Friend?

She was composed again, it was almost as if the night a few days ago had never taken place. She did not speak of it, Rook did not speak of it, and the girls surely did not speak of it. The next morning, kasra had looked at her oddly, only to be snapped at, which was truly rare.


She rode on the seat of the wagon, staring straight ahead for the most part. Occasionally she would lean to look behind them, at the serpentine column that followed, and the darkness of the bosk herd that trailed behind the wagons. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but Tuchuk and bosk, but no sign of the ones that stayed behind. She rode with her thoughts, which were increasingly more uneasy. She had realized that Kam's wagons were not with them either, and this confused her even more.

Through the day, there had been those that came to walk beside her wagon, delicately questioning her about some things. Her brother Hiram had appeared, and his questions were more direct and to the point. Where were the spex? Why were they not leading the people as was usual? He felt that since she was of the first wagons, she would have answers, but she had none. For the first time in a very long time, one of her brothers showed anger towards her. Wheeling his beast around, he rode back down the column to his own wagons.


That night when they stopped, the wind had abated somewhat, and she had gone about seeing to the evening meal for the outriders, and any that would have need to share it. She was pacing, sipping from a mug of tea when a man stepped from the shadows, flanked by outriders. She was immediately suspicious, for was he not only a stranger to her, he had no scars so he was not one of them.


He was a wise man, for he made no sudden moves, kept his voice low and calm as he inquired about Kamchak. And she was cautious, keeping the fire between them. Her mind flowed back to a conversation that she had with Tarra not too long before the move, about a friend that would be seeking them out. Was this that friend?


It was. The man was respectful and asked if he could sit, and she had nodded, but still made sure she kept that fire between them, and a distance. She offered him food or drink and he had asked for blackwine. The bowl was prepared, and she very cautiously sit it on the ground, keeping out of his reach. She was not a foolish woman, and she did know that Rook was watching, and the OR, but still she was cautious. He was still a stranger to her.


They spoke for sometime, but she did not trust him quite enough to tell him that Kam and Tarra had stayed behind. She only said that they were not around at he moment. There! She did not lie, nor did she give away anything.


The longer they spoke, the more comfortable she became with him. Just from his words, she realized that he truly knew Kam well, he even knew of Chay, calling her that blonde kur with claws. He had also commented on her pregnancy. It seemed the man was a healer, something called a surgeon, that she did not exactly understand, but had nodded to.


She found she liked him, and this was rare for her to like someone this quickly. They talked of dwellers, as they shared a disdain for them. The man did not care for cities, or walls, or the people that lived behind them. He told her he preferred to sleep in the open, just as he would do this night. He assured her that he would make his camp away from her, for he did not want to make her any more uneasy than she obviously was.


Later in her wagons, she lay thinking about him. He was interesting. But, was he an omen of some sort. And if so, was it good or bad. She would certainly keep her eye on him, and learn more.

Doubt and Anger

The progress they were making was slow, but steady. Each day they were up before the first rays of the Central Fire began to brighten the sky, tying things down, having a meal, then as the first rays began to show, the wagons and the herd began to move. And each morning, she walks out onto the plains before those first rays, and looks back towards the horizon, hoping to see signs of fires in the distance, and each morning she is disappointed.


She spent little time riding the kaiila, the winds were too bad, and it took too much out of her. Most of her time was spent riding in her wagon, trying to keep Tug entertained, which was no easy chore. The evenings would find her walking around camp, talking to people. The atmosphere seemed charged with doubt, and she being who she was, she tried to soothe those she talked to, and to not speak of her own fears and unease.


Where were they, why had Ba'atar not returned. He had said three days, but it was well into the end of the hand and no sign of any of them. Even when Falon had stopped by not long after he had left, to tell her that she too was returning, she had said only a few days. She had not realized until that point, that Falon's wagons were not with them. Had she been wrong to not stay behind? No. She always traveled with the people, ever since she could remember, twice each turning, her people had packed up and moved the bosk to fresh grass. If the people moved, she moved with them. Never was there even a thought given to staying behind. It is just how she was.


The nights found her in her wagon, laying in the furs listening to the winds howl around her. The wagon would shake, boards creaking as if they were going to be rent asunder, but what could she do? She would roll over, pull the furs up to her chin, look at that vacant spot beside her, and cry. There was just something so lonely about the sound of wind.


One night she sat straight up in the furs, and was overcome by grief, then by anger. How could a wagon that seemed so confining during the day when she rode in it, suddenly turn in this huge empty, desolate space at night when she was alone? Something possessed her, and the longer she sat there, the more angry she became. Angry at the skies, angry at Loch for leaving her, and yes, even angry at Tayco that had left her first. Angry at those that had stayed behind, angry with herself for moving. Angry at everyone and everything.


Stumbling to her feet, she let the angry sobs come, and she began to throw things around. It had been kasra's turn to sleep curled up on her platform, to be there for any needs she might have during the night, and the poor girl was startled from her sleep by the sounds that came from inside the wagon. She ventured to part the flaps and peek inside, and had to cover her mouth with her hands to hold back the shriek that wanted to flow from her lips.


There was her Mistress, dressed only in an oversized tunic, hair whipping around, pulling the furs out, throwing them around, cursing loudly. She almost caught a flying pot with her head, but managed to duck in time. Scrambling off of the platform, she ran to Master Rook's wagon, telling him that the woman had gone mad.


The elder man was up instantly, running towards the wagon. He stopped, stood and listened then looked down to the trembling girl, and told her it was the grief. Grief does that. It makes you sad, it saps your soul, then it makes your angry. Now that the woman had finally reached that point of hot, mad, anger, she would truly begin to heal. As he said this, a fur came flying out to drape over his head. Removing it, he again looks down to the girl, and tells her to get her bedroll and go sleep on his platform, that he would keep watch of the woman inside. He did not have to tell her twice, she ran off as if larls were chasing her.


Another put flew out, followed by more furs, and the raging of the woman continued. Taking up the furs, he moved to settle down on the steps of another wagon, to wait for her to calm, if she did. There were mixed emotions about he. He knew that it was necessary, but he still worried about her and her condition, but right now, he would allow her to rant and rage, but only to a certain point.


Inside, she continued to curse and rip her world apart. She even tried to push a large storage chest out between the flaps, and became even more enraged when she could not move it. Instead it got a kick from a bare foot, that just sent waves of pain up her leg. Hobbling around, she continued to sob and throw everything that was moveable out between the flaps. Pots, smaller chests, furs, clothing, anything she could get her hands on. As she sailed the last of the boots out between the flaps, she had nothing left to throw, and no energy left to throw it.


Dropping to her knees, she holds to her middle and begins to rock back and forth, wailing. After a time, the wails give over to sobs of loneliness again. Distraught, scared, unsure and alone. That was how she was feeling, and it was making her ill, physically ill.


Sensing that the worst of it was over, the old warrior lifted to his feet, shook out the furs and approached the wagon. The sound of her sobbing, broke his heart. His first instinct was to turn around, allow her the privacy of these moments, but he could not. There was not only her to think of, but her unborn child. Slowly he mounted the steps of the wagon and looked inside. What he saw was even more heart wrenching, and he had to pull back, get his wits about him before he could enter.


Stepping inside, he moved to the sleeping platform and spread the furs out, then turns to look around. The wagon was a wreck, and so was she. He says nothing, nor does she. It is almost as if she did not even realize he was there. Deciding he could leave her alone for a few moments, he went out to gather some things. When he returned, he righted her brazier, thankful that the fire in it had been dead, brushed away the ashes, added some chips that he had brought in with him, along with a small bowl of coals from the fire pit outside until he has a small fire. Almost immediately it begins to warm the space, and he set the pot over it and brews the tea. While it steeped, he finally approached her sobbing form.


Gently his arms slip beneath her and he lifts her like one would a small child, and immediately, she curls into him like a child. The sobs had tapered off to an occasional whimper, and she whispers to his chest that she is scared and alone. Saying nothing, he carries her to the furs, tucks her in smoothing hair back from her face. He then gets the tea and sits there beside the furs making sure she drank it.


Amid whimpers she sips until the brew is gone, then lays back. Taking her hand, he settles in to sit with her until she is asleep. Very rarely does he do this, but the rumble of a song begins in his chest, a type of tuchuk lullaby that women and men have sang to children since beyond time.


She slept. It was not a peaceful slumber, but one that was punctuated by shudders, small whimpers, and tears falling down the side of her face occasionally. But it was sleep. When she finally stilled, sinking deeper into that land of dreams, it was only then that he left her. But he did not go far.


The rest of the night for him was spent rolled up in a fur, sitting on the platform of her wagon, being buffeted by the winds. And he did not sleep.

A Mystery, Wrapped in Lights and MIst

Her head was tilted back, the beautiful hazel eyes lost in the beauty of the skies when she became aware of the beast beneath her. It was Ciegue, and she was riding bareback and could feel the movement of ever muscle as he picked his way delicately along the shore of the stream. Her fingers were wound in his silky mane, and he seemed to know where they were going better than she did, which was odd.

Again she looked up to the skies, truly amazed at what she was seeing. There were blue and green lights that seemed to be hanging almost exactly over the route of the stream. She had never seen anything like it before. They were not stars, they were not the moons, but were something else entirely, and she did not know what. A part of her was uneasy, frightened at the unusual phenomena, but then there was that other part of her that was almost excited, eager to follow the lights, even if it meant up into the skies.

Had they been riding for ahn, or just for a few ihn, she did not know, it was if time was suspended, again odd, but also peaceful. She rocked to the rhythm of the kaiila, just watching the night skies. When the music first came, it was soft, distant yet close, if that is possible. Ciegue seemed to know where he was going, and changed course to pick his way up along a path into a clearing where a fire blazed, the lights flickering off of the face of the woman who sat there singing softly.

Ciegue came to a stop and turned his head to look at her. Why was it, that when he did this, it was usually his blind eye that sought her out? The massive head nodded, as if to tell her that she needed to dismount, which she did. For a time she simply stood there, her fingers still stroking the silky, ebony mane of the beast as she watched the woman at the fire. The woman did not draw her gaze from the flickering flames, but spoke softly. "Do you plan to stand planted there staring for eternity daughter?"

In all honesty, if she thought she could have gotten away with it, she would have done just that. All she wanted to do at the moment was to drink in the scene, to bask in the warmth and security of it.

Slow steps took her towards the fire, it was almost as if she felt if she moved too quickly it would all disappear like the mist in the early morn. Another sensation invaded her senses and she looked down. Her feet were bare, and the grass beneath them was soft, barely damp, kissed by dew. Stopping, she wiggles her toes, savoring the feel of it all, the warmth, the softness of the grass, and it makes her laugh softly. Her attention is finally drawn back to the woman by the fire, and she approaches watching her.

Lowering down beside the apparition that was her mother, she speaks softly. "How do you always seem to know when I need you?" The woman's arms reached out and she drew her only daughter into her embrace. " Because I am your mother, and that is what mothers do. Have you not learned that with your first child?" She settled into the embrace, truly needed the comfort of it. "I am trying to."

They sat there watching the flames dance in the fire pit. Not once did her mind even begin to question any of this. It was if she were thirsty, her soul parched, and she had come to a magic stream to drink her fill, to quench her thirst. "Cana, I am proud of you. You have been through much, but you always seem to be able to hold you own through it all."

"Mother, I try. I guess that I do what I do, because I know of no other way to handle it. I try not to drag my fears and sadness out before others. They are private to me, and only to me. If I need to cry, I will do it within the privacy of my wagons. If I need to shout and scream with anger for being left alone, I will ride out onto the plains to do it. I just cannot bring myself to put those things on display before others."

Her mother pulls he closer as she laughs softy. "That is because you are you and not them. That is all you can do Cana, is act the way you feel is right, and let others worry about their own problems. You handle yours, and let them handle theirs." Leaning, a gentle kiss is placed to her daughter's brow. "Now tell me, why are you so at outs with yourself?"

A sigh escapes her lips as she stares into the fire. "Mother, I just feel so alone and scared right now. I know that is foolish, because I have the tribe and my family, but it is how I am feeling. Sometimes, I wonder….Why me? Why does life has to be so hard, and I know that is wrong of me." Turning she looks into that beautiful face that has not changed a bit since as long as she can remember. "I know it is selfish of me, but I just have to wonder what I have done that is so bad that the skies seem to wish to punish me."

Her mother sits back, watching her for a few moments. There is no reproach in her gaze, or anger, or disappointment, there is only love. Taking one if her hands, she strokes it as she speaks. "Cana, the skies are not angry with you. They bless you. You have been blessed with the love of two fine, strong warriors, a son that will bring you pride in the future and the child that you carry. Have you ever thought, that it is not your destiny that you question, but the destiny of others? That perhaps you were what was supposed to happen to them at a particular time and in a particular way?

Look at Tayco, how old he was when he claimed you. Have you ever thought he was waiting for the right one to have his son, the one that would raise his child in the old ways, in the traditions of the people?

And Loch. He had been through so much, that his heart was closed to love until you were put upon the path with him. You taught him about the kind of love that exists between a man and a woman, and he taught you to live and laugh again, he helped you to heal. It was all as it should have been. It was all blessings.

Not only to them, but to you. Each of them gave something to you too. Tayco brought you from being a child into being a woman, then Loch stepped in and showed that woman how to live, and allowed her to blossom into who you are today. You have been so blessed.”

Now, she did feel a bit guilty, she had not considered things in that way. See, this was why she needed a mother, someone to guide her. “You are right, you are always right.” Her hand moves to her middle, just to make sure she was still with child, you never knew in dreams. She smiles. “And they both gave me a child to remember them by, so you are right, I am blessed. I miss them Mother, both of them, and for different reasons. I know that I am blessed, but that does not make it any less lonely.”

Her mother laughs softly, then leans to caress her temple with a kiss. “It does not hurt to be lonely sometimes. It makes you appreciate the time when you are not that much more. Cana, you are not destined to be alone. You have far too much to offer to the right warrior. In fact, there is one that is seeing that in you right now. He is waiting, watching and will reveal himself when you are ready.” Her head lifts as she looks at her mother confused. “Watching? Who?” The woman laughs. “I cannot tell you, for you need time to adjust and to be ready. You need to relax, not worry so much, and take care of yourself and the baby you carry. When the time is right, you will know. I will tell you this, he will step forward willing to love you, but also your children. This is rare in a man, so be open to it.”

What could she say? Nothing. Her mother had a way of knowing what was in store for her, and she would trust her. Snuggling in like a small child, she smiles. “Can I not just stay here with you, like this forever?”

“No, you cannot, for it is not your time yet. In fact, it is time for you to return to your life, and for me to go.” Gently she sits her up, and caresses her face with those loving fingers. “You will be fine daughter, as long as you stay true to yourself, and stay strong. Will you do that for us?”

She realized that this was all coming to an end, and nods. It was inevitable, the tears began to fall from her eyes. “I love you Mother and I miss you.” Her mother lifts to her feet, then holds her hand down to pull her daughter up. “I am always in your heart, remember that. When you are troubled, feel those of us that love you so much, in your heart.” One last kiss is given to her temple, then the woman turns to walk off into the mist that was forming.

“Mother! Tell them all that I love them. Father, Tayco, Loch and Trilok.” The woman does not turn around but lifts a hand in farewell. “I will my sweetest daughter.” As she begins to face into the mist, she says one final thing. “But my grandson is not with us. He wanders, watch for him.”

Hearing those words, she ran towards her trying to follow to learn more. “Mother! Mother? Where is he?” But she was gone.

She awoke with a start, on the platform of her wagon, wrapped in furs. Closing her eyes, she tries to summon it all back, but it was gone. Sitting there, she shivers, whether from the cold, or the dream she cannot tell. Eyes closing again, she inhales deeply of the cold air, trying to clear her head. She becomes away of a low growl beside her, opens her eyes, turns her head to see that milky white eye of the kaiila staring at her. How had he gotten from the kaiila herd to her wagon? How had he found her?

The black head tosses, almost as if to say………I have been here all along.

Uneasy

The cold was getting to her. The first day on the trail, she had ridden most of the day, but today she had stayed in the wagon, huddled by the brazier. Unfortunately, she had made Tug stay with her. A small child, cooped up in a wagon all day, is tiring.


And, she was concerned. When the wagons had began to pull out of the northern camp, she had noticed that the wagons of Garyx and Tarra did not pull out with them. At the time, she had just thought that they would fall in father back in the line. This was not so. She had heard rumblings today, gossip from the slaves, that most of the spex had stayed behind. This unsettled her. Could she have stayed behind with Garyx and Tarra? No. It would not have even seemed like an option to her.
For all of her life, she moved with the tribe, with her people, and this time would have been no different. Rook had told her not to worry, but as she studied his face, he too seemed ill at ease.


Did he tell her not to worry because of her condition, or did he truly think there was nothing to worry about. Then, later in the day, she had heard that Silken had not come either. What in the name of the plains was going on? Trouble with wagons? Bosk chyt. Silken had been making this move for a whole lot longer than she had, and her wagons were not ready?


These people had been a part of her life for so long, that she was feeling set adrift. Why was that? How could she feel so lonely among thousands of people, millions of bosk? When they had stopped for the evening and made camp, there was no one, other than a few slaves around the fires. She pondered the fact that she had not seen Kam either, but had assumed that he was out scouting. Tomorrow she would seek him out, or find out where he was.


She missed the laughter, the banter, the conversations that were the norm around the fires during the move. It was not here. Actually, she chided herself, tried to talk herself into thinking her unease was simply a part of her condition, and there was noting wrong at all. But there was.


She was feeling lonely and vulnerable. Not feelings that she liked.

The Last Day in the North

The past moon had passed too quickly. In the flurry of activity that it took to get ready for the southern migration, she had found little time to sit and think, which was not all that bad. She and her little group were becoming very good at making the preparations, working together with few frustrations, or things of that nature.


For two days, she and Rook had taken Tug and the girls out to the herds. In the blowing snow, they had carefully chosen two teams of bosks for each wagon. When they had decided which ones to put in the traces together, and on which wagons, one of the girls would tie a colored leather collar on them.


The woman had a system for the teams and wagons, that had always worked well for her. Each wagon was painted in a different color scheme, and there were colored collars to match each wagon. Once two teams were chosen for each wagon, they would get the colored collar, then they would have a horn painted. One team would have the left horn painted, the other the right. Each day they would trade the teams out, so that no team pulled two days in a row. Kam had been the first one to mention this to her, and she had taken his idea and expanded upon it. Not only did it make her teams work better, they were some of the most gaily colored ones in that long parade they were about to become a part of.


The usual festive atmosphere did not abound. Maybe it was the snow that seemed to keep hanging around. Fortunately, her wagons had been moved recently, and were not mired in the frozen ground like some. At one point, she sat on her kaiila and watched a group of men trying to get a wagon to move, and they had to work at it hard. Finally it had began to move with much creaking and groaning, and they were rewarded by one of the wheels cracking at the axle, and the wagon listing to one side. She felt very lucky that she was not having that problem, but watching them was enough to send her to her own wagons to check everything one more time.

Rook had enough. When she returned, he grasped her by the arm, turned her towards her main wagon and told her to go there and stay and rest. She was worrying too much, and they were ready, and he would see that all of those she normally took care of were ready too. Her mouth opened to argue, but the look on her face told her that this was just not the time. If the truth were known, she was glad to get out of the cold and into the warmth of her wagon.

Tug was brought in, and they spent the afternoon playing a game that consisted of her hiding a small stone in one hand, and him guessing which hand it was in. There were also stories, she played her flute for him, and began the basics of teaching him how to play. He even took a nap, which gave her time to sleep too.

She had promised herself and others, that she would not over do anything. She planned to rest, eat well, and to try and not worry. It was the last one that would probably prove to be the most difficult. She had her concerns, but kept them to herself. And they were probably silly ones.

In all honesty, she enjoyed the time spent with her son. Each day, he reminded her more and more of Tayco, he had even picked up some of the same mannerisms. How does that happen?

One of the girls came to get him for his bath, and she lay back, staring at the roof of her wagon. Tomorrow they would be on the move and part of her was getting excited. For some reason, the journey to the southern grasses always meant renewal and new life to her. New beginnings.

Helping Hands

True to her word, the girls kasra and juneau were sent to grease the axels of the bosk singers wagons. When they arrived they were met by Birrmah, who seemed surprised to see them. It was juneau that took over as the voice for the pair, and she explained to the woman that they had been sent by Mistress Cana to grease all the axels, and to help out where they were needed, if the Mistress allowed.

The woman seemed a bit puzzled by this, but waved them off to do what they were sent to do. She continued to work around Ba'atar's wagons, her mind on all that she still had to do, not only here, but at her own wagons. The move was upon her before she was really ready, but she would get it all done somehow, she always did.

Time passed, and juneau stuck her head between the flaps of the wagon she was in. "Mistress, we have finished greasing all the axels, can we help you with other things?" Birrmah eyed the girl, assessing her. "I don't have time for chittering slaves, I have too much to do." The girls eyes widen. "Mistress, I don't know nothin' about no chitterin', mostly we just work and do what we are told." The woman's eyes narrowed slightly. "Chittering is that idle gossip that slaves seem to fall into. I don't abide it, that is one reasons I have no slaves." The girls head bobs. "No gossiping Mistress, we will be quiet as urts, all you have to do is tell us what you want done." If the truth was known, kasra did not talk much to anyone, so they were accustomed to working side by side, quietly.

Birrmah was not entirely convinced, but pointed to the baskets of laundry. "Well, you can start by carrying those to the stream. We need to do the laundry, drag all the furs and rugs out of the wagons, give them a good beating, the floors all have to be scrubbed, then we can start packing for him." Again that head bobbed as juneau moved to stack one basket of laundry on top of the other, so she could carry them both. "Mistress, if you do not mind me saying so, kasra is a fur beatin' fool. I think she gets some sorta joy outta beating furs with a stick." Quickly she moved from the wagon with the baskets of laundry, and started off towards the stream.

Birrmah stepped out onto the platform, and saw that the other girl was already gathering up the furs that rested by the fire. Some were hung on the wagon tongues, ready to be beaten. Well, this might not be so bad after all. Turning, she gathered all the sleeping furs and began to toss them out onto the platform, then these were followed by the rugs that covered his flooring. One thing about it, if she kept them separated, she wouldn't have to listen to their constant talking. She proceeded to each wagon, seeing of there were any other furs or rugs that needed freshening up a bit. A few were found and she moved them to add to the growing pile. She studied kasra for a few moments, seeing how quickly she was working. "Girl, here are the other ones. I want all of them beaten thoroughly, and hung to air, do you understand?" The girl nodded and spoke softly. "Yes Mistress" The woman's brow arched, she had been expecting this one to offer more conversation on the subject like the other one, but it did not come.

Shrugging, she moved off down the path to the stream, and found that juneau was already sorting laundry into little piles. She found she had to do little as far as instruction went, the girl seemed to know what she was doing. "Where did you learn to do laundry, girl?" The muscles in the girls arms flexed as she beat a tunic on the rock. ""My mistress taught me, Mistress." Well, that sounded promising, in a way. "So, she taught you, and now you do all of her laundry." The shoulders shrug as she twists the water out of another garment. "I help with it Mistress, as does kasra, but Mistress Cana does part of it too. And she wanted us to know how, because she sends us to help others with their laundry." Birrmah huffs a bit at this. "Others that are too lazy to do their own work?"

The girl looks up at her. "Not exactly Mistress. There is the one elder man that has lost his mate, and has no family. He has that thing in his hands that make them look like this. " She holds her hands up to emulate the twisted joints of arthritis. "He can't really do his, so we help him with his laundry, and we clean his wagon each hand." Shrugs. " In a way, it sorta makes you feel good, and he tells good stories. Then there is the old pot maker, who is now blind, Mistress sends us to do her laundry too, and we clean a little. Not too much, because we don't want to move things around, so that the older Mistress can't find them." The tunic goes into the basket of other clean ones, to be hung out later, and she begins on another.

The woman was knelt beside her, brushing some leathers, taking this all in. "So, what else do you do for her, other than laundry? Do you clean and cook, those type things?" The girl was twisting the water out of another garment. "Yes Mistress, we do help with those things too." Birrmah nods, she thought as much. Then the girl continues. "We all work together. If there is meat to be dried, my Mistress is right there with us, slicing it up, hanging it on the racks. If we are scraping hides, she does that too. We help her with the cooking, but she is a much better cook than me or kasra.

And she makes sure that the little Master is fed good meals. And we take food to other folks too." The woman was pleasantly surprised to see how well and how quickly the girl was working. "Other folks? What kind of other folks?" The girl dries her hands off and reaches for a pair of leathers and begins to brush them. "Mostly older ones. Like this is this one old woman, that has no teeth to chew with. Mistress makes sure that everyday we cook a little meat to take too her. Mostly kasra does that. She cuts it up into these little bitty pieces, then cooks it in a pot real slow, so that when it is done it is extra tender so that the old Mistress can eat it. Then when Master Rook or Master Kam bring by meat, she divides it up and has us take it to people that have no one to hunt for them, like Mistress Leaya."

She was certainly learning more about Cana today, than she had thought she would. "And who is this Mistress Leaya?" The slave gives a side-long glance to the woman. For a woman that said she hated gossip, she sure was asking a lot of questions. "Well, the way I understand it. Mistress Leaya was mated to the brother of Master Tayco. His was my mistresses first mate. Her mate, Master Tayco's brother, was killed when the Ubar Trajen was killed. After that, Master Tayco started taking care of her and her children. After Master Tayco was killed, my Mistress kept on taking care of them. We take them meat, kasra and me go and help her get ready for the move, and Mistress trades and barters around for clothes for the boys. They are growing fast, you know how kids are. I asked my Mistress one day, why she kept doing it, and she said it was her duty. Not real sure I understand that, but it is just what she does."

Birrmah was surprised to look around, to see that the laundry was all done. She stands to pick up one of the baskets, but the girl was too quick for her, telling her that she could carry them. "So, she says it is her duty. Interesting." The muscles in the girls arm bulge as she carries both baskets of wet clothes. " I guess so Mistress. The way she told us, is that by being in the circle of the first wagons, she had a duty to make sure that those of the outer wagons, that could not do for themselves, had what they need. I guess all those folks at the first wagons do those kind of things, from what I have seen. The men hunt, the women find out the other things that are needed, and they take care of them."

As they walked along, Birrmah pondered all of these things. "I see. Sounds like your Mistress likes to stay busy."
The girl laughs. "Mistress, that woman ain't ever still much, unless she is sleeping. Along with all this other stuff, she also spends ahn upon ahn every day at the kaiila pens, working with those blasted animals." Her head shakes. "You should go watch her someday Mistress. I swear, she talks to them. She just has this way with them, that is fun to watch. I think that is about the only thing about being pregnant that gets to her just a little. She can't train them like she normally does. But I will guarantee you this, after that baby is born, she will be back out there doing her work, even if it means doing it with the baby hanging off her back in a cradleboard. She is just that way."

As they approach the wagons, the woman is almost shocked to see the rows of furs hanging from the tongues, each one free of dust, and left to air. The other girl had been very busy in their absence. She had even rushed to meet them, taking one of the baskets from juneau, speaking softly. "I will help you hang these to dry, sister." Birrmah had no idea where Cana had come up with these girls, but if she were half as good at judging kaiila flesh as she was at choosing slaves, then she was a smart woman.

Watching the girls hang the clothes, she only has to make a few adjustments, and to be very honest, they were minor things. Standing beside juneau, she asks her another question. "So, you are happy being the slave of a woman, instead of a man." This to her was just an odd thing. Now, kasra's head nodded vigorously, and if she were the type to talk, she would have probably told the woman that she actually feared most men, but she said nothing.

Now juneau, she was a bit different. "Happy Mistress? I can't think of a time when I have ever been happier. She works us hard, but she works right there along with us. She feeds us, we have a nice warm place to sleep with warm blankets. She never beats us, nothin' like that. Once in awhile, she might scold a little, but heck, that's okay too." The woman watches her. "But you would rather serve a man, right?" One of the reasons that she did not have slaves around her wagons, is that she wanted to keep the sluts away from Aamon and her sons. The girl lifts her head, but she does not look into the woman's eyes. "Mistress, if you mean do I like men? Surely I do. And Mistress Cana understand that, and from time to time, she will send me to the wagons of someone that she knows, as a gift, and I will spend the night. Why heck! Last night, she sent me to the bath wagons to warm the water and help your own son take his bath. And she told me to stay with him until he told me I could leave." Shrugs. "So it works out. And sometimes I sleep in Master Rook's wagons. But for the most part, I am truly happy being where I am, and I try real hard not to mess it up."

Birrmah's eyes narrow slightly. "You are telling me that you gave my son Ba'atar a bath?" Well, bosk bells, was she in trouble? The girl looks at the ground. "Yes Mistress I did. I heated the waters, helped him wash his hair, washed his back for him, all that." She then looks up, hoping to redeem herself with this woman. "And that was all! Now Mistress, I won't lie to you and tell you that I would not have come to these wagons with him, and stayed until the sky was light. But he just didn't seem interested in that last night. That Master seemed to be doing some heavy thinking, so after I dried him off, he just kissed me, then told me to go find my furs. I was disappointed, but that is just how it was."

Birrmah pondered on this for a time. "I see." She looks around, actually pleased at how much had been accomplished. "I am going to send you back to your Mistress for now, because I need to go fix a meal for my men. But, later, if she will allow it, come back and I will show you how to fold the laundry when it is dry, and we will sweep out the wagons and put the rugs and furs back down. Then we will start packing."

The girl looked up, with an almost charming grin on her face. "Yes Mistress, we will come back later in the afternoon." She grabs kasra's hand, and pulls her along with her as they run back to the wagons of the kaiila Mistress. When they are out of earshot, juneau leans to whisper. "You ain't gonna believe all the questions that woman asked me."

A Little Night Music

She had been sitting at the fires, alone, playing her flute, something she has done quite a bit of lately. It soothes her, and takes her mind off of other things. She had tucked the flute away when people began to drift to the fires, not everyone appreciated her music.


There was the usual banter. The bosk hunter was seeing naked women, Leonette was blushing when she teased her about her new mate Wily, and the other singer showed up with a small wound on her lip, which Ba'atar jumped all over. Seems that the young woman got in the way of a swinging, hot spoon. Easy to do sometimes. There was more good natured teasing, which she enjoyed, then Leonette dashes away, promising to return.



When she returned, she had the drum for Ba'atar. She had told Cana about it, but had finally gotten up the courage to give it to the singer. You could tell from the grin on his features that he was pleased. You could also see the pique of interest on T'zuri's face. The woman had a fondness for drums, and this one was well made, and as it turned out, had a very nice tone to it.


It was Leonette that asked for a song. Taking her flute out again, she began to play a traditional song about their love of the bosk. Ba'atar joined in with the rhythmic tap on the skin of the drum, then T'zuri stood and began to sing. It was beautiful, truly beautiful. The song floated on the night air like a dream, the flute lifting the melody, which was enriched by the tone of the drum and the low hum that came from Ba'atar, then truly made beautiful by the sweet, clear voice of T'zuri, singing about that which gave them life........the bosk.


It was beautiful. A simple song made beautiful by the people that presented it from their hearts as an offering to that which they revered most. It was a good night to be Tuchuk. A good night to feel that pride that came from the blood and the soul. With her eyes closed, she could actually envision it floating above their head, the notes swirling higher and higher until the joined the stars.


When it was over, she did not truly wish to talk any more and excused herself to go to her wagons, holding the melody to her heart.

Time Heals...........Hopefully

Good days and bad days. That is what she tells everyone who asks how she is. And there is truth in it. The days seem to fill themselves with things to do, but it is the nights that haunt her. Even the warmed milk with honey does not seem to do its' job. She finds herself laying on her back in her furs, staring up at the smoke hole in the wagon cover, going over things in her mind.


She had enjoyed her visit with Birrma, and meeting Aamon. And she truly loved that last glance she got of them, and the love that passed between them. What is it about a simple kiss between two people that share a full life, that is so beautiful? Is she the only one that thinks that way? Some day she will have to ask others.


The harder part of her day had come later in the evening as she sat on the platform with Tug, looking out over the wagons. He seemed confused. For some reason, he thought their little walk today was to see his Poppa Loch, and he was disappointed. How do you explain this to one so young? What words do you use? She tried to explain it as simply as she could, that Lochlan had fought a great battle to protect them. That he had fought fiercely and with great honor, but had been felled by a cowardly Kassar, as he saved the life of another warrior. She told him that they could be very proud of Poppa Loch, just like they were very proud of Poppa Tayco. But the skies had called Loch to patrol them, alongside Tayco, and that both of them were in the skies, keeping watch over them. He seemed to ponder this in a serious manner that was far beyond him four turnings. This bothered her. So young, and he had suffered so much loss already.


That dark little head tilted back to lay on her breast as the eyes searched the stars. He finally lifted a hand to point as to which star was Tayco, and to which one was Lochlan. She was glad his back was to her, so that he would not see the mist of tears in her eyes. She tried so hard to not cry in front of him. He snuggled in and asked her if they were alone now. Quickly she tried to brush this thought from his little mind, reminding him that they had family and they had their tribe, and they would never truly be alone. This seemed to appease him and he relaxed and was soon asleep, sitting there on her lap. Carefully she lifted him up and carried him inside to his sleeping furs to put him down. For a long time she just sat watching him, the ache in her heart throbbing.


Leaving him to be watched over by Rook and the slaves, she made her way to the fires, finding Tarra there. The woman always amazed her. Her calm, her strength, her entire manner. As they talked, they were joined by Silken, who seemed to want to apologize for missing Loch's pyre. There were many who missed the pyre, but Silken had actually been the one that surprised her the most. The woman had her reasons, but she was still a bit hurt by it. It was Tarra that was the most vocal about it, and she allowed her to handle the situation.


The moment passed, and somehow the conversation turned to matings, and her mating again. She voice her feelings in thinking she would not do it for the third time, and they both found that funny in a way. Talk turned for a time to them, their mates, and never saying never. She absorbed all of this, tucking it away to think about. Putting it with some others things she had been told within the past couple of days. Things and emotions that actually had her heart and mind confused. It was just all too soon. The wounds were too fresh, but she was beginning to have hope that they would heal.


Now here she was, laying in her furs, staring up at that smoke hole, thinking about hope. Was it wrong of her to hope. To hope that her heart would heal, and that she could live again? Closing her eyes, something came to her. Hope was a tree that managed to spring up and thrive in a place where it shouldn't. It was seeing the first blossoms of spring begin to show their faces to the rays of the Central Fire. Hope was the half-blind kaiila surviving in a harsh would where it should not have lived.


Hope was life. Hope was composed of faith and trust. All she had to do now was find that faith and trust deep within her, and use it to crawl out of this abyss she seemed to be sinking into. She would have to use her reserves of strength to reach out and grasp a hold on the roots of the tree of hope, to turn her face up towards the warm rays to be warmed, to survive. To live.

It had not been a restful night for her. Many things weighed heavy on her heart and mind, and yet, there were some things that seemed to take on new life. She arose to a bout of morning sickness that took her out of her wagon and to the trenches, very early. Once the contents of her stomach emptied, she really did not feel all that much better, but walked back to her wagon and plopped down on the steps. As the first rays of the Central Fire began to burn the night away, she looked down to see kasra holding up the bowl of tea for her. Taking it, she gave a grateful smile to the girl and sat there sipping it until everything settled again.

After the morning meal was finished, and Tug was bathed and dressed, reluctantly, to be honest, she told Rook they were going visiting. Baskets were packed, and she requested that Rook bring the bird, and they set out for the outer wagons. It was a beautiful morning, one with the first hints of warmer weather in it, and she found that she felt quite happy and content.

Several times she stopped to speak to people that she knew. Inquiring to the aching joints of one elder warrior, and cooing over the new daughter of another young couple that she knew. At one point a handsome young man, not yet scarred, spoke to her, and her head tilted as she tried to place him. He had laughed and told her who he was, which made her laugh. There was a point, when this handsome young man was but a child, and he had given her a flower and had been rewarded with a kiss to his temple. Where had the time gone? He was no longer a child, and for a moment that made her feel old. Old at twenty-two? Yes. Old.

As she approached the wagons of the bosk singer's family, she had to smile watching the woman, who seemed to have complete control over what was happening in her little part of the world. This was the "Wench" that Ba'atar spoke so fondly about. The mother who saw to every whim and need of her mate and sons. Looking around, she realized that the camp was very neat and orderly, and running quite smoothly. Approaching the woman, she introduced herself, in case the woman had forgotten who she was.

The woman smiled at her, telling her that she knew who she was, that she remembered her from when she had come to visit Six, and from when she had sent food when he took his final ride. She gave her name as Birrmah, and nodded for Cana to join her on the platform, and asked if she would care for something to eat or drink. She did not wish to be rude and eschew her offer of hospitality, so she asked for some water if it was not too much trouble. The woman looked at her, then laughed softly. "The baby has your stomach in an uproar, doesn't it" Cana could only chuckle and nod. It was such a simple gesture, but one that truly touched her. Birrmah reached to pat her hand gently then went to get the bowl of cool water, which proved to be exactly what she needed.

When the woman returned, Cana handed her the basket, and explained that there were honey cakes in there for her and her family, and a bag of honey-roasted nuts. At the mention of the nuts, there came a gleam of almost childish delight to the woman's dark eyes. Opening the bag, she took one out, held it between her finger and thumb, then popped it into her mouth and chewed slowly, smiling. "Six loved these, and I do too, but I don't find them around too often." Cana was thrilled to have given the woman a treat such as this, and began to tell her of the grove of trees near the stream at the southern grasses, and of the hives she had found. As they talked on this, she promised that next season she would show the woman where both were, and would teach her how to roast and coat the nuts. A pact was made between the two women, and she found that it was comforting.

Birrmah worked on some mending as they talked. Cana asked questions about her family. Gentle questions that helped her to understand them more. At one point, the woman looked at her with a wise gaze and asked how she was doing, how she was holding up. At first the slender shoulders simply shrugged, then she had to admit that she was feeling better about some things, thanks to conversations with one of the woman's sons. One of the dark brows lifted as the woman asked which one. When she heard who, she began to laugh. You could tell by her laughter and the look of pride in her eyes that her son was a special man to her, in fact, all of her sons were special. But, she did warn Cana…"Watch that one, he will steal your heart away before you even know it." Cana had to agree with her. The man was an arrogant bosk arse, but when he wanted to, he could be very charming, and recently, she had found that he could be a good friend, one that gave wise counsel.

They sat for quite sometime just talking, then the woman nodded to Rook, asking who he was. She had almost forgotten him, and called him over to introduce him. One of the main reasons she had wanted him to come, was to bring Chuluun. Rook had been working with the bird, and now wore a long leather gauntlet on his arm, with the bird perched on it. When Cana explained about the bird, the woman's eyes again lit up as she chuckled. She found it hard to believe that this beautiful bird was the same scrawny bit of fluff that Six and Mayala had fussed over so.

The visit was nice, and she enjoyed it. Tug had charmed the woman in that way he had, and was rewarded with hugs and bits of fried bread left over from the morning meal, smeared with fresh butter and jam. He even got his own little bowl of blackwine, sweetened with more milk than blackwine, but enough to make him feel quite grown up. The woman had a way with the boy, but why wouldn't she, she had raised enough of them herself.

She had stayed far too long, but found herself hating to leave, but she had things to do, and she knew that Birmmah did too. When they were gathering up to leave, the woman placed a hand on her shoulder to still her. "He has spoken of you. You know this don't you?"' She laughed at the shock in Cana's eyes. "He has always spoken highly of you, and has been worried about you recently. He fears that you will not allow yourself to be open to what the skies have planned for you. I have told him to give you time to adjust, then to wait and see. I know that it has been hard on you to lose two mates in such a short time, but remember, perhaps it was the intent of the sky all along. Perhaps it was to make you stronger to accept what they have planned, and to make you treasure it more. Just remember, you are not the one that has been burned to ashes, and your soul floating into the skies. You still live, and you have much to live for." She was stunned by the woman's observations, and said nothing. Birrmah, leaned to kiss her temple then turned to go back to her mending.

As she was walking away a man came around the corner of the wagon. It was not hard to realize that his was the father of all those sons, Ba'atar was the spitting image of him. He stopped, put down his lance, crossed his arms over his massive chest and assessed her for a moment. She felt compelled to say something, and told him who she was. He nods.

"You are the one that just lost her mate. My condolences to you. I am Aamon, I believe my eldest son has spoken about you. You asked him to sing at the pyre." She nods, then proceeds to tell him what a wonderful job Ba'atar did. Again the man nods, then this grin of pure arrogance came to him. "He had a good teacher. Now, where are you running off to?" She was studying him, understanding many things. Ba'atar came by his attitude honestly. It came from this man. She gives him one of her sweetest smile, and tells him that she needed to get back to her wagons and her work.

He nodded, then pointed one meaty finger at her. "You will visit again, and soon. Maybe some evening, and we will have songs by the fires, and my Wench will make us dinner." It was truly all she could do to not burst out laughing, but instead she simply nods and make a promise to return soon to the hospitality of his fires. He seemed satisfied with this, and turned to walk to his mate who was back at her mending. "Wench, is there no food for a hard working man?"

Oh, skies, she began to move away quicker, so that she could finally laugh. When she turned to look back, she caught something truly beautiful. Aamon had leaned down, taken Birrma's hand in his large hand and placed a gentle kiss to her lips. She had to smile seeing this, then watched as Birrma, lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. It struck her suddenly of the love that passed between these two, that had spent a life together, that had raised fine sons, and still had the beauty of love. They were blessed, truly blessed.

As she and Rook walked back to their own wagons, she watched Tug running ahead, then back to them, then exploring every spot he could, chattering non-stop. She had many thoughts running through her mind, many things to ponder.

One?

When the bosk singer had suggested taking Tug on a hunt with him and his brothers, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Somethings do, at the time. After the mid-day meal, she had dressed him warmly, and waited. Maybe her first indication that this was a bad idea was when his brothers came to get the boy, and not Ba'atar. But, she estill let him go. After all, this was a warrior of the first wagons, right? Watching them ride off, was bittersweet, in many ways. Her son was no longer a baby, and she supposes it was time for him to learn the ways of men, she was just not sure she wanted him to learn them at the thigh of the singer. The man had some odd ideas.


She passed the time by getting her wagons settled. She finally found the peace to go through Lochlan's things. Some special articles of clothing were saved to be passed to their child, including his scarring tools and dyes. She would keep his scarring wagon as it was. Who knew what the future would bring. Perhaps she would have a son who would someday wish to be a scarrer like his father. She chose a wagon to use to store the things in it that she would wish their child to have. The articles of clothing, Loch's blades and dies, Lochley's drum, things like that. The rest of his clothing was sent with one of her girls to the outer wagons to be distributed among those in need.


She then walked to the wagon that she was reserving for Tug someday. In it were his fathers saddle, his tack, his leather bota that had his name tooled into it. Along the side hung his bolas, spare lances, a bow and quiver of arrows, and stored in one of the trunks were the leather vest she had saved, a set of quiva, and a small leather bag that held the lock of his hair. It was a sentimental day for her. One of visiting the past, then putting it away again. It was needed.


She could not help herself, and kept looking out to the plains, wishing for the return of the hunting party, and the later it got, the more she worried. Were there still Kassar out there? What in the name of skies had allowed her to send her son out there, into danger? From time to time Rook would tell her to calm down, everything was fine. Easy for him to say.


The hour was late when they did finally return, dirty, bloodied, full of themselves, as warriors often are. Did her precious son just call her wench? Surely not! All the child could do was babble about the hunt, the fun he had, and 'Tar said this, and 'Tar said that. It was endless, simply endless. When she discovered the wound on his arm, she did as any mother would do, she tended to it, over the protests of the bosk singer, who had this idea that dirt cured everything. Her son would have a healing salve, not dirt. She shot a look to the arrogant singer, finding murder in her heart!


Finally, she had gathered her son up and took him back to their wagons. Tug told her not to nag. Nag? She never nagged, where had he gotten such an idea? It was a battle, but she had gotten him bathed, his wound dressed, and some food into his little belly, all the time listening to more tales of the hunt. Grudgingly, she had to admit that she was proud of him. He had evidently helped to bring down a tabuk, and had made the slice that had ended its' life, and rendered it food for the tribe. Yes, she was proud.


She had sat with him until he finally fell into an exhausted sleep, playing her flute for him. His last words to her before his eyes closed were.........I'm not Tug. I am One. She would kill that bosk singer.


She came storming out of the wagon, bent upon murder, or at the very least, great bodily harm on the singer. It was Rook that grasped her arm, held her back and told her in that calm way of his that her son was growing up, and she could not stop that. She knew the truth and the value of the words, but that did not mean that she had to like them, exactly.



No, she did not storm back to the fires to lash the singer with her tongue. She thought of it. She even had visions of blood and murder, but that was not allowed either. A small smile hinted at her lips as a vision came to her.


A vision of blood, a wound. One where the singer grunted and said dirt would take care of it. Oh, she would give him dirt. In fact, she would pile the dirt on until he begged for air! She would give him dirt until his head disappeared beneath it all. There is your dirt.......bosk singer.

To Honor a Warrior

Almost as if they were bestowing a gift, the skies had cleared to offer a beautiful, star filled night for the pyre. Drawing on her reserves of strength she has approached the area with head held high. A flow of emotions swirled within her as she looked around. The first thing she had noticed was her family, the strong, straight frames of her brothers standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces solemn. Briefly her mind flashed back to her life, and how they have always been there for her in good times, but more so to the times of trials. She drew strength just in the knowledge of their love for her.


There were so many there, including some that she had not expected, and this brought pride to her, knowing that they were here to honor her mate. Tears welled inside her, but she managed to hold them at bay, when she saw Kam mount Frick and approach the pyre wagon. There was knowledge that this was difficult for him, to be the one that arranged the pyre for his beloved grandson. What strength the man had, to do it with such dignity.


There were so many moments that would stay in her heart and memory forever. The gifts that were laid to the pyre, the ones that would travel with Lochlan on that final ride, the poignant moment when Falon stepped up to sing a song of farewell to a brother. How she must be hurting, to know that she was now the only one left of three. Of how she must carry on for not only Tanzia, but now for Loch. Pride had swelled within her as she saw Shi step forward to honor Loch in the old ways. With the song and dance that had sent so many warriors on their last ride. It touched her, and she would remember it always.


She could not sing, it just was not in her, but she did step forward to speak of the man, and of how she loved him, and how he loved her. Words of how he had taught her to live at a time when she did not think it was possible, of how he had loved her, protected her, and allowed her to grow into the woman she was now. Her words of farewell had been spoken to him in private as she did the final preparations for him. As she bathed and rubbed the herbed oils into his cold flesh. She bid them to sing and to celebrate, and to know that this was not an ending, but a beginning. Loch had moved from this adventure, to a new one, where they could not follow yet. But he would be waiting for them when their time came.


When Tarra stepped forward, the was this horrid wrenching of emotion. The woman had such dignity, such a presence. How did a mother handle this, seeing a child going before her. Somewhere inside her, she hoped that she would never have to do this, and if she did, she hoped that she would do it with the same honor and pride tha Tarra showed.


When Ba'atar stepped up to sing, she finally allowed quiet tears to fall onto her cheeks. He sang his song to the beat of his hand upon the drum that had belonged to Lochley, the father of Lochlan. It just seemed so right, and so fitting that Lochlan would begin his journey to the skies to the rhythm of his fathers drum. She found a certain peach in joy, knowing that he would be met in the skies by his father, and the sister that had gone before him.


If it can be said that a pyre was beautiful, this one was. In the end, she had walked around to give her thanks to those that had attended. She truly hoped that they realized how touched she was by them and the way they honored him.


She had even managed to put in an appearance at the celebration that took place afterwards at the main fires. There was much laughter, and there were tears. Life would move on, and she with it. Did she still feel that the skies were angry with her? Yes. Ba'atar had pointed out to her how blessed she was, to have had the love of two men, that have the gift of a son, and the gift of the child she carried, but she still could not get over the feeling of how they mocked her, gave her so much, but at the same time tore so much from her. But these were things that she would hold within her heart, her secrets.


Time had come to live, and she would do that as best she could. It was simply the only thing she knew how to do. She would not dishonor Lochlan by losing herself to grief, or by feeling sorry for herself. He would not want it that way. He would expect her to live, and she would.

Until We Meet Again

The girl sleen had left her a bit of food, and she forced herself to eat it. Time had come for her to start taking better care of herself, if not for her own sake, but for the child she carried. She would remain strong, so that it would come into this world strong and ready to take up its' path through life.


After eating, she sat for a long time, fingers caressing around the necklace that had been made from her hair, and the beads and clasp that had been made from a bauble that had been given to her long ago by her own parents. It was a simple thing, but made from love, each strand, each bead a testament of love. As she sat, she gathered the strength of mind and heart that would be needed. Ready, she stepped from the wagon and looked to Rook, telling him that she wished to go to the pyre wagon. This elder man that was her closest friend, her confidante and her rock, stood and offered her is hand.


Walking to the pyre wagon, words did not pass between them, for words were not needed. Upon arriving, she saw some of Loch's men there, guarding their leader. Some still wore the bandages over wounds that had been suffered, but still they were there. A thought came to her, that she had not even asked as to which others had been lost in battle. Later she would find out, and later she would see to their families. For a moment she stood there just staring at the steps that led up to the platform, gathering the strength for what would come next. As if sensing the pain and fear that battled within her, Rook squeezed her hand. There was just something in the gentle strength in that gnarled old hand that gave her that last little bit of courage that she needed. Mounting the steps slowly, she entered the wagon, closing the flaps behind her.


He lay on a raised platform of furs, the flickering lights of the lamps causing shadows to dance around his handsome features. Moving to him she knelt down, a trembling hand moving to take one of his. It was cold, lifeless, waxy feeling, but she held to it now, the same as she had held to it when life flowed through him. Leaning her head over, foreheads touched and she allowed tears to flow. She could smell the oils and unguents that had been used to cleanse and prepare his body, and perhaps it was only a memory in her mind that also allowed her to inhale of the scent of him that was so familiar. She ached, wanting the feel of his strong arms around her once more. She longed for the tone of his voice as he spoke quietly to her as they lay for many nights planning their future. With her eyes closed, she could hear his laugh, that teasing tone of his voice as he kidded her. This was the man that had taught her to live once more after Tayco died, and now here she was once more, not knowing exactly how she would find the strength to move forward along the path that was her life.


Allowing these moments to pass, she finally lifted her forehead from his, and caressed that scarred cheek for the last times and spoke softly as she fastened the necklace around the strong column of his neck, ignoring the injuries that were there.


"I love you Lochlan Noir, but you know that. More than once I have told you that I was remiss in not saying that often enough, but you would always tell me that my love for you came through in my actions more than my words. I need for you know that same thing about yourself. You made me feel loved, safe and secure each day that we spent together. You brought me hope, when I thought none existed. You taught me to laugh again, to enjoy life again, in a world that I was certain held no more laughter for me. We did not always agree, and there were a few times when harsh words spilled from us, but I think that even in our disagreements, the bond between us grew stronger. And, was not the making up enjoyable? You loved me, and you allowed me to be me. For that, I have always found more love and respect for you. I make you this promise tonight. A promise that I will never dishonor your memory or that love you gave to me. I promise that I will raise our child to know what kind of man its' father was. I will seek out your mother, have her tell me of your life before you came here, so that our child will know the rich heritage that came from both its parents."


Her fingers move to trace of the necklace that she had fastened around his throat. "I have brought you a token of myself to seal that promise. Something for you to take with you upon your ride to your ancestors. And when you see the face of your father there, tell him that I said thank you. Thank him for me for sharing you with me for this short time. Tell him that I will raise his grandchild to honor not only you, but him. I love you Lochlan, and I will always love you. You will always have a place in my heart. Ride well my love, and wait for me."


Leaning over, she placed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips than sat back up, just studying him for a long time, letting the quiet tears make tracks down her cheeks. Her hand moved to caress over her stomach where new life was taking form. A life that was made from the love of two people. Eventually, she stood and back away towards the flap of the wagon, loathe to leave him, but she knew she must.


When she stepped out onto the platform, the cold air of the night caressed her cheeks, causing the trail of tears to freeze upon her flesh. Looking up, it seemed as if the clouds parted to give her glimpse of the stars that lay behind them, and she feel a wave of dizziness take her. She whispered his name once more, then all that had happened in the past few days rushed in on her at once, and she collapsed to the platform in a swoon.


Rook was there, and caught her. Taking her up, he carried her as one would carry a small child, back to her wagons. If any were to look closely, they would see the dampness of his own tears on that many scarred cheek. She was put to bed and a healer called to check on her. And this night, he would not sleep in his own wagon, he would not sleep on the platform of hers.


This night he sat beside her, holding that small hand in his grasp. When the first rays of the Central Fire would come the next morning, he would still be there, quiet, strong and still as a stone, keeping watch over her.

The Sacrifice of Hair.

She had woke up refreshed in a way. The melancholy was still there, but that was simply part of it. Something had come to her, and she would be bent on doing something this day. Being completely idle was not her way. Stepping from the wagon, she looked around, and saw the girl sleen. There was just something about her that she liked, for some odd reason.


Calling her over, she asked if her chores were done and if she had some time to help her. Satisfied that the slave had the freedom and time to help, she had her heel as she walked to her brothers forge. He had been true to his promise, and what she wanted was ready and waiting for her in a small leather pouch. Pouring the items out onto her palm, she had nodded, then leaned up to kiss his cheek, thanking him. When she turned to leave, she had seen the slave giving the eye to the strong, handsome men of the metal workers, and had thwapped her on the head to get her attention.


Back at her wagon, she had taken the girl inside with her, and began to unbraid her hair, asking sleen if she was any good at braiding, not that it truly mattered exactly. She said quite still while the girl brushed, oiled and braided her hair into that one thick braid that usually hung down her back to past her waist. It was very calming in away to have someone brush her hair like this. From time to time, late at night in the privacy of their wagon, Loch would do this, taking up the brush to run it along the length of her hair. It was a very private and intimate thing between the two of them. One she enjoyed. As he would brush, they would talk of their day, things that had happened, nothing important, just two people sharing their worlds.


She told sleen to stop braiding at a certain point, holding her hand out to indicate exactly how much she wanted left free at the end, then instructed her that when she got to that point, to tie it off twice with leather thongs about two horts apart. When this was done, she pulled the hair over her shoulder to look at it, making sure the right length was reached. Fingers trailed over it, and a sadness came to her, as she remembered the touch of his hands along her braid. Taking a deep breath, she put it back over her shoulder to hang down her back. Reaching for the quiva, she handed it to the slave, knowing that this was not exactly proper, but she trusted the girl. Her command was simple..........cut it between the two thongs. For the longest time, the girl did not grasp the quiva, and questioned if the Mistress was sure. She well knew that cutting ones hair, even part of it, was something that needed great thought and consideration.


Taking a deep breath, she nodded and closed her eyes. It seemed like it took forever for the girl to saw through the thickness of the braid. It didn't, but it just seemed that way. The slave finally handed the quiva back over her shoulder, then followed it with the hank of hair. Taking it, she was overcome with emotion, but managed to push it back down deep inside her. She heard the soft voice come from sleen, with an offer to maybe trim it up neater if Mistress wished. Again she nodded, then simply said later.


Turning to the girl, she poured the contents of the pouch out on the furs between them, then lay the hair beside them and began to explain to her what they were about to do. At first, there was confusion in the girls eyes, then the acknowledgement of what was to be done, the reason for the sacrifice began to dawn in her gaze.


For the rest of the afternoon they worked, accomplishing their goal. During that time she had talked about Loch, and how he had brought happiness to her at a time when she did not think such existed still. Talking of these things seemed to soothe her, to help her along the path of her acceptance of what had happened.


As they worked, the interior of the wagon grew dark, and sleen got up to light the oil lamps to give them light to work by. When they finished, she had leaned to kiss the slaves forehead and thanked her. It was then that she sent her away, for she needed time alone again, before she did what she must.